


The Secret Name

by smilingcrescent



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dark, Demons, Drama, M/M, Magic, Multi, POV First Person, Paranormal, Reapers, Romance, Some Descriptions of Violence, mature themes, time limit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 63,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilingcrescent/pseuds/smilingcrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I will devour your soul at the end of our contract in six or sixty-six years. The first, and you will command all my abilities as a personal servant. The latter, and I will serve you once a year for every year remaining." His long arms snatch through the darkness to cup my face. "Choose." </p><p> Ciel never revealed himself as the Queen's Guard Dog, even to the underworld. Instead, under Sebastian's influence and an array of persona, he searches, ever more desperately for a way to extend his contract. The contract, after all, ends 6 years from that day... If he can get Sebastian's Secret Name, he may have a chance for more life. Modern AU. SebaCiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. summoning a demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: nothing owned, nothing gained.
> 
> Warning: this story contains violence...which Sebastian enjoys. (Please note the Teen rating. Descriptive, but not graphic.) It will contain adult themes in later chapters. (chapter 14 and 15, for example.)
> 
>  **HOWEVER,** if you think the only value in fanfiction is free pr0n, then you should go read something else. Because the sexiness is not in the sex. :) Not with my writing, anyway...
> 
> A/N: this story is written in 1st Person present point of view. It is also a Modern Crime World AU. (Eg, not related to events in either manga or anime, except that they share characters.)

**Chapter 1:** Intrigue among friends

_in which Alois realizes Ciel is hiding something, and then attempts to summon a demon._

(Ciel)

"Hey. You in?" I say on the phone while I type in the security code.

Static muffles Alois' reply, but I finally make out a "...sure...I'll get dressed." before he yawns and hangs up.

I roll my eyes and walk leisurely to his door. I hit the buzzer. "You decent yet?"

"Hell, decent? Aren't I always?" Alois laughs. I hear footsteps, and a moment later the door unlocks and opens. Alois's blond head bobs, and he waves me in. He _is_ dressed, fortunately.

"Odd that you come on your own," he raises an eyebrow. "I take it this is a social call, and not some request for insider information?" He smiles suggestively. "Or do you need a brilliant actor to do some James Bond worthy spying?"

I roll my eyes. "I got tired of bumming around." I shrug, and follow him into his sitting room. I focus on breathing normally.

"So you came to talk to me." He says slowly. "Something on your mind?" He lowers his lashes and smiles. His lips are bright.

Suddenly, the china cabinet seems quite interesting. "Not really."

" _Really?_ " he asks sharply. He's not buying it.

I shake my head, fiddling with my sunglasses. I take them off, knowing that the near-magic (or maybe _actual_ magic) lens will look however it's supposed to. It keeps most people's eyes away from mine— most people.

I continue brooding, not intending to, but that's how it comes out.

"Catch yourself before you fall," Alois suggests, and his voice is a lilting play on the words. Just looking at him, you might think he was sated, lazily commenting on a conversation from an hour before.

I look at him carefully, watching his eyes—and like colored glass, they can be clouded with emotion or clear as shallow water. Better, his eyes _now_ are sharp.

"What?" I demand.

Alois laughs. He's the kind of person who laughs often, and his emotions are bare on his face…embroidering his voice too. He leans forward. "Why don't you tell me what it is, and I'll see if I can put my startling intellect to the problem?" His lips are curled into a smirk. Curious, then.

I sit down at the table, leaning lightly against the arm of the chair. I try my best for nonchalance. I slide my eyes over to him, trying not to be too conscious of the colored contact drying out my eye. "Things have been busy lately," I hedge.

His laugh suddenly brittle, Alois eyes me with suspicion. "Uh-huh." He gripes. "And that's why you're here, looking for information to keep you _more_ busy." Irritation flashes across his face, hot and dangerous.

I sigh. "Mm," trying to pull my thoughts in order, I lean away from the cushions and toward him. "I was hoping you would enlighten me with something that might suggest _why_ I've been so hard pressed recently," I offer slowly. "So that I might remedy the account."

Alois wrinkles his nose at me. "I hate it when you talk like that." He remarks.

I frown, and blink slowly against dry eyes. "And I know you know what I mean."

He yawns. "Might." With an almost feminine flourish, he crosses his legs, tosses his glossy hair, and offers a smile that's all desire and soft, moist looks. "But I prefer you speak plainly, Ciel." He's lounging in the chair opposite mine like a cat in the sunshine.

Fidgeting is never the best of moves, so I lace my fingers together. "Another video cropped up." I say flatly.

Alois' smile falters a little. "Really." He seems torn between scandalous interest and outrage.

The time it takes for his expression to settle is enough for me to shrug and pick up a cup of tea, "Sebastian was able to take care of it." I say pointedly. "But I wanted to know…have you any idea why I might be suffering their re-release?"

Alois nods slowly—as though he's grasped more than just the meaning of my request. He practically falls into the cushions after he lets go of the tense energy. Watching him carefully, I see the barest of rise and fall of his chest—he's breathing shallow and quick.

I smile slightly. "Propriety begs few questions, I suppose."

He looks up with a shimmer in his eyes. "I think that was a long time ago." I can see the curiosity turning into fascination, and his shock shifts accordingly.

I stiffen. "Your point being?"

Alois shrugs. I can't read his intent any more than I could read the sky. "Why do you care?" he asks blankly.

I repeat his gesture. "Hmm. Maybe it as something to do with _reputation._ " I snap, leveling my gaze on him.

With a small wave of his hand, he pushes that aside. "It's more than that. You'd think that if it was a rumor." He licks his lips, but his face is so blank. Unlike him, and startling. "This has _history_ behind it."

My breathe feels tight in my chest. I can't help but think someone has a death-lock around my lungs.

Clapping his hands together, Alois laughs full throttle, heedless or uncaring of any social graces the situation calls for. Then he's practically dancing, falling into the cushion next to me. He leans against me, touching his cheek to my shoulder. "Your dark and treacherous past," he muses, and I see a flicker of pink between his lips. "Coming back to haunt you, is it?"

A beat of heavy, maddening silence.

"I knew we had a lot in common." He grins, and his giddiness turns into low, almost inaudible laughter.

A long while passes. "Breathe, Alois." I mutter. My lungs ache enough without him to worry about.

His hands have somehow wound their way around my waist, and his fingers twitch through to pull up the fabric. "We're more alike than I thought," he murmurs.

I stiffen.

Straining away from him upsets both our balance. I fall against Alois, and realize my hand is touching bare skin, while his mess of blond hair and striking fae-ish features are closer than ever. I can feel the blush spreading from ears to nose. Fair skin does that.

I scramble for words.

Alois leans in to plant a gentle kiss on my cheek. A mix of emotions are at war in his eyes. The turn of his cheek, arrogance. The tilt of his mouth, sadness. His grasping hands speak of something else still, and I do not know it. My father did not tell me how to read such things.

"Just tell me." His voice is flat.

"Tell you what, Master Alois?" A low voice interrupts from behind. Heavy amusement fills the room, so I can easily imagine the expression.

Making no move to assist in the untangle of limbs, Alois almost hits my chin he turns so quickly. "What are _you_ doing here?" His outrage could cut glass.

Stiff still, I shrug him away. His lips brush my ear.

"Don't you trust me?" he complains, but he's more than offended. Even without telling signs, I can see that.

"What is it, Sebastian?" I shift so Alois will either _move_ freely or fall off.

I hope he falls…

"I took the liberty of preparing tea." Sebastian is only proper with that smirk dancing and eyes half lidded. "Also," he looks at me, and his expression smooths, "The materials you asked for are in the east drawing room. Young Alois has been good enough to leave them for you." Long habits persist, and I can almost see him bite his tongue as he leaves off a title. But he lazily adds, "Ciel," at the end.

Honestly, he'd be calling _me_ master this and young lord that if I let him. He'd ruin my cover.

From his new perch on the table, Alois fakes a yawn. "Yes, I did." He eyes Sebastian with a young tom cat's territorial pride. "Come to me when you're finished with them, and we shall continue our discussion."

I laugh. Despite his hatred of pretense and pompousness, he's learned the cadence rather well. "You are so very kind," I smirk.

Alois ruins the effect by shoving at me while I stand. I stumble a little, but Sebastian is before me in a flash, catching me before I fall into the china.

I ignore his childishness, and make my way to the door. "See you after, then."

When I turn to nod, Sebastian has confronted Alois with a gentlemanly bow. His hair hides his crimson eyes, and the smile is back, dancing between a snarl of teeth and blood to mocking respect.

I can only imagine what Alois thinks.

* * *

(Alois)

The house has been silent for near an hour now.

I find myself idly turning a strand of hair through my fingers. My eyes stray to the leather chest containing the fruits of my research. I tilt my head, running through the list in my head. Chalk, incense, candles, silver and iron and the script. And more henna.

I frown at the complicated loops and knots going up both my hands and wrists and the symbolic knot around my heart. And of course, the third eye.

I suppose Hoichi the ear-less had it worse, though. He had to cover every inch of his body, not just a few areas.

The latch flips open easily. I take out the papers— copies of copies cut and pasted together to look like Latin and Hebrew texts. The newer type face inserted above the old letters is almost an eyesore, except that they're the only part of the thing that I can read. The damn thing even has footnotes and pronunciation guides.

It _looks_ good, I'll give it that.

I get out my chalk tied to a string and set it in the center of the room. I move my hands agitatedly, sticking out my tongue in concentration. I smudge at the point where the two ends of the circle meet, making it seamless. Yeah. Just like that.

I briefly think about running through the motions— just to practice. Just set everything up and look at the words on the paper. Maybe pronounce some words, but not much.

But what the hell. I might as well put all this to use.

I'm practically dancing to the corners of the room, lighting candles and burning sticks of incense. I hum under my breath, feeling more giddy than I have in too long. I put the silver necklace and iron bracelet on. Take a deep breath. Hold it. Relax.

Then I step carefully into my chalk circle, adding some Buddhist names and characters on a whim. The different sources couldn't agree on anything, anyways, so more is better, right?

I begin to chant, sounding out the unfamiliar words. Silence seems to ring around me, and I feel a sudden drop in temperature. Excitement and anticipation send mixed signals up and down my spine. I wait for something— for the words to start to glow, or come off the page. Or maybe the incense to combine into some sort of smoky eyes of the fairy. I wait for my fairy servant's dramatic entrance.

But then everything starts to get hot, hotter than before. Sweat beads up on my brow, the dry heat hitting me like a wave. The words on the page blur, but refocus when I blink the fog away.

"What's this?" A crackling voice hisses behind me. "A human boy trying to summon something."

A sudden, overwhelming anticipation overcomes me. I laugh and whirl around, looking for the fairy. But all I see is a hazy yellow-and-orange flickering light. A brighter flare catches my attention— something like the light of one of my candles igniting on the sofa. No. No, that's not right, is it?

All at once, the other flames flare up, and I can make out a face.

This will be the day my whole life changes. I just know it.

"Poor boy," the flame runs up the back of the sofa and catches the lampshade. Is this happening?

I've searched so long for the fairy, for the spells that would allow me to call it. I need this, more than I need anything. More than I've needed even my name because this time, I want it to be real. I want to be really, really gone from that tasteless past, and I want the power to keep me there.

The fairy is glowing. Its form isn't humanoid, and it isn't really tiny, or like a person at all. I guess it's not a fairy at all, but an imp...or a fire salamander or something.

But it's mine, and I want it. I reach out, grasping in my memory for the right words.

"Stay. Hear. Listen. You are mine." I gasp out, or that's what I'm supposedly saying in tongues.

Despite the grayish air, the curling, twirling smoke, I'm giddy.

Then it laughs, and the fire roars.

It doesn't work. Oh shit, it doesn't work. I curse continuously under my breath, and then loudly. I begin to cough, my eyes watering. Trying to breathe, I feel the excitement drain away. My knuckles are white against the book.

Should I get out of the circle and trust the other defenses?

But no, the flame is already eating at the pages in my hand, and the face and wispy hand grasp at my clothes. Laughing like a maniac.

The room begins to fill with thick, black smoke. It's so fast, so dense, breathing is hopeless. I stumble out of the circle, abandoning any last protection it might have. My vision reels to black, a fierce headache and thirst driving me away— to the door— to air.

Panic begins to creep in.

Trying to sound the part, I point at it as I retreat. "You," I cough. "Obey me." I burst out, my words coming out like rasps.

It has to listen; I just have to be patient, I think vaguely. But I can't think anymore.

Around me, the world dims, and the crackling fire echoes in my ear. Familiar, so familiar. It's like stepping back in time...hot, searing air in my lungs and the chill in the air that bites to the bone.

The fire spirit only laughs, its voice like a roaring, crackling bonfire. The fire is too hot, the air too stale.

"Obey me!" I shriek.

A burning book flies magically off the work table, crumbling to ash before my eyes. The charmed circle depicted there slowly disintegrates, eaten away by flame.

 _What the hell is going on?_ and _why isn't this working?_ fight for dominance in my muddled brain.

I fumble, reaching out and turning my shoulder to the door, hoping and knowing that I've not done this right.

The fairy is _not_ mine.

Then, the door slams shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a relatively serious fic, with doses of lighter, humorous scenes popping up sometimes. (:
> 
> Critique welcome.


	2. into the fire and out again, Alois schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire. Alois. Scheming. ;)

**Chapter 2:** into the fire and out again  
(Sebastian)

The call is wordless, but just as relentless as if Ciel screamed my name. I drop all pretense of work and simply make haste to get to wherever Ciel is. But there. The urge becomes more directed and focused. Ah, now he realizes the danger. I know what he wants.

_Take care of it._

Fire, and smoke. Screams from inside. I burst through the window, and the fire surges up around me, gaining heat and volume as it gains more air. Chaos. Alois chokes.

He's stumbling to the floor.

My clothes smoke and a stray flame even dances along my jacket. My eyes go past Alois to the elemental spirit running around the room, urging the flames on unnecessarily. I catch the thing in my hands, heedless to the burning pain.

"This will not do," I begin. "Put your fire out before things get out of hand." I open my mouth just enough to show pointed teeth.

The spirit shivers visibly, drawing from the heat and power of the room. I squeeze a bit harder. "I'm afraid I must insist." I throw it to the ground and stamp on it.

For all that I'd love to crush the thing, my first priority is and always must be to protect Ciel. No matter how close a tempting spirit wanders.

The flames go down with the battered spirit until the spirit cuts the magical link, making it easier to put the flames out. When it does, Alois finally escapes from the cloying smoke into the hall.

I step briskly around him, running a few paces to get a fire extinguisher so conveniently placed. It also holds more chemical foam than physically possible for its size, but I doubt anyone will notice. When Ciel gave the order to act human-like, he merely meant to keep our contract secret. He won't mind me manipulating things- like my fire extinguisher- to his advantage.

I spray down the room until the flames are small enough to beat down with thick cloth. I open the window to let in fresh air.

While unconsciously avoiding the chalk circle, I realize that it's broken, and more than that, terribly unbalanced. My eyes narrow. I smell a faint undercurrent of incense, and thoroughly melted candles. The tang of iron drifts up from Alois, and silver glitters around his neck.

Ah. Is that it?

It was a damned foolish attempt at a summoning. It shouldn't have worked at all, not without enough raw talent and at least rudimentary training.

I look up at the approaching sounds of sirens but a few blocks away.

Alois coughs and wheezes. He peers into his wrecked suite- books and things unrecognizable in the burnt out tracks of flame and furnishings sodden with chemicals. His cheeks are flushed from the heat, but embarrassment and anger is clearly written underneath that, in his posture and his wooden composure.

The foolish boy begins to laugh.

"And I thought that _you_ were made of fire and brimstone," he rasps, and stifles a coughing giggle. His eyes are red, and he has a burn trailing up one arm; but for all that and the damage his rooms have sustained, he looks contemplative.

I smile and give the smallest of bows, moving to help Alois farther away from the room.

He groans and protests. After a moment, though, he begins to murmur as if in a dream. "I finally have proof that you're not human," the words are slurred, and his voice is all but the thinnest of whispers, but I can make out the sound.

"Of course not, Alois," I sooth. "I simply am one hell of a butler." I rise up from my knees.

Alois snorts."Aren't you supposed to be a personal assistant?""

I merely smile.

"That went well," he continues. Sarcasm colors his laugh. "My summoning worked. And my room is trashed."

I see a burnt page, half crumpled in his hand, a collage of an old Latin text and faulty romanization. A relic of times past, I expect. The summoning _couldn't_ have worked.

"I couldn't agree more," I reply, my tone revealing little more than polite deference. I lean the boy against the wall and make my escape.

It's time to see Ciel.

Ciel has the window open in the library. His ear is to the window and the approaching sirens, but his gaze is on Alois' room, scanning diligently for more signs of flame. "Get me out of here." He whispers. His breath comes in fast, hallow wheezes. He coughs and chokes near as much as Alois- Ciel, who was _in_ the fire, but it's as much as I can expect.

"Young master," I begin.

"I mean it, Sebastian. Get me away from here." He chokes, his eyes large and frightened.

"We can't be seen fleeing the scene." I remind him. "People have seen us come in." I dust off ashes from my black clothes. They look positively gray. "Besides, you probably need a breathing treatment. You're showing signs of exposure to smoke. The police may be idiots, but they know enough to ask the hospital to keep tabs on crime-related injuries." My clothes as clean as I can get them, I gesture to the door. "It would be perfectly understandable for the asthmatic victim to wait outside, though." I remind him.

"What on earth was Alois doing?" Ciel demands. "Why did his room catch on fire?" paranoid hysteria colors his voice.

"Fire still bothers you, doesn't it?" I brush a hand to his cheek, wiping at a smudge of ash. "The foolish boy tried to summon one of the fae—or perhaps a demon." I shrug. "He rather confused certain elements. Silver and iron are for spirits of _this_ world, but pentacles and rituals are for spirits or demons of _that_ one." I lead Ciel towards the door. "It's a wonder an elemental spirit showed up at all."

I could have made quick work of him too, if I hadn't been forced to only do what a single man could do. The order which keeps me scrubbing floors and preparing teas instead of employing a host of devils to do the work for me instantly.

But I don't have any regrets. Ciel Phantomhive is as interesting as I could have wished.

A few minutes pass.

"Ciel," Alois coughs, his pink face turning towards Ciel like a flower to the sun. "I'd forgotten you were here. Quite a show, don't you think?" His teeth are pearly against his flushed skin.

Just then, firefighters announce their arrival, sending two men in without so much as a "by your leave."

They stop before me, eying my singed clothes and ashes I my hair. I point a long finger down the hall. "That room," I tell them, and keep pulling Ciel away from the fouled air.

Safely outside, Ciel insists on being set down. "Put me down, you bast— Undertaker?" Ciel chokes on his breath, unable to continue.

Long grey hair pulled back, the Black Doctor smiles from beside a gurney. A shady character from Ciel's ties to the underworld, he's usually the first called when someone wants their injuries hushed up.

Undertaker's sleeve barely hides his giggle. He smiles broadly now, his customary black cap hiding his eyes.

Ciel snorts. "We're already attracting attention." Ciel's breath comes in faltering wheezes. He lets out the air in a rush, his pink lips open and gasping for air. He coughs up ash-colored flem. "I need the hospital..."

"Hush now, Ciel. I've got a nice little toy for you." He pulls out a plastic mask with a tube connecting to a cylinder of tank. An oxygen mask, I think. "Suck on that for a while."

"What is that?" Ciel goes cross-eyed trying to look.

"Hm? A Resuscitator, of course."

"Did you steal that it?" Ciel sounds incredulous.

Undertaker flips his hair behind his shoulder casually, and addresses me. "Alois did it this time. You let the little one get away, Sebastian."

I raise an eyebrow. "That thing is hardly a threat," I shrug. "But this 'little one' needs proper treatment. Is an ambulance coming?"

"Probably. I did tip them off. And the firefighters came, didn't they?" he shrugs, and stands up, stretching like a cat.

I follow the undertaker a few yards away, checking my watch. The paramedics should arrive in a few more minutes...Assuming Undertaker called just as the fire started (some ten minutes ago), the response time is faster than anticipated…Ordinarily, the call would be shuffled through operators and then dispatched. The firefighters are ten or fifteen minutes early…could this mean he anticipated the fire? Or only that this community is given special status? I wonder how Undertaker could have known.

"We didn't call you. Your services hardly warrant reward."

"Oh, payment? I'm just passing the time…" he smiles. "But I wouldn't mind a joke. Really, it isn't that much to ask…" I feel his gaze even under his cap.

"Just here to gawk, then." I look down my nose at him, and begin to go back to Ciel.

"Things are changing for you two, you know." He giggles again. I turn around to consider him. "I'm sure I can smell it. Care to come over and try out coffins with me? I know a place…" He lifts his chin, bearing his neck like a challenge.

I consider his position again. A doctor for the crime lords…what could he know of Ciel and my bargain? Or does he mean something else? I smile. "I decline. Your face disgusts me."

Noticing a firefighter come out of the house, I make a show of rushing to be at Ciel's side. A personal assistant who can't do that isn't worth his salt, after all.

The smell of fire permeates the air. I wonder if that's why Ciel's heart flutters so…remembering the beginning, and thinking of the end.

The final act.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

(Alois)

The hospital room is full of white lights, busy, rushing nurses, and beeps and whizzes of machinery. It's never quiet, a little too cold, and exactly _not_ the place I want to be.

I touch the sheet restlessly, longingly wishing Ciel would _wake up_ and get over here. He wasn't even in the room with me, but he's definitely the favorite of our situation. Oh yes, I'm the stupid brat who let candles catch the rug on fire, but _he's_ the poor, asthmatic victim _over in the other room_ who had nothing to do with anything. It's enough to make me throw up.

I pull at my nightshirt. It's just the kind of thing that bastard would have loved...loose around the sleeves and disguising any kind of figure I might have had—makes me look like a kid in a pillow sheet. But the doctors and nurses are babying my skin. It's somewhat mollifying, since they've more or less stopped lecturing me and started praising Sebastian for getting things under control.

"Where is he?" I mutter, and my hair falls into my eyes when I look down. I look at my pink hands. Compared to them, my arms are stark white- except for the ugly, crescent burn. It's like a gaping mouth, turned a deep red and pink at the center, and the blister is painful and stinging without me even touching it.

The door opens. "Alois?"

I smile slowly without looking up. Just who I wanted to see.

"Hello Ciel." I kick my feet out of the tangle of blankets and let them dangle over the side of the bed. I don't get up, but pat the space next to me.

"How are you feeling?" His voice is wooden, and I look up to see that his colored contact has been replaced with his leather eye patch.

"You've been discharged." I frown. He's changed into fresh goth clothes, the usual black with more lacing than strictly necessary—a present from Sebastian, I guess. He has his hands around a tablet. I recognize it as that thing he usually brings to our meetings—a nice bit of equipment for note-taking, recording, and other stuff, though I always thought it lacks the romance of a real notebook and pen.

He nods. "They said they want to watch you a little longer though, but if you asked…" he shrugs, "you could probably go home soon. The smoke smell's been cleaned and everything."

"Thanks." I snort. "Now sit down before you make me dizzy looking at you."

Ciel fidgets. He's trying to keep to small talk, and not business. He can be straight-laced, even while he's actually impatient. His parents must have crammed manners down his throat. I mean, why else would he bother with small talk when he really, really doesn't like it? "I hope you'll be in better health soon."

"Just spit it out, Ciel." I snap. "I don't have time for your power games…" I pat the bed again. "And sit _down._ "

He does. "I wanted to ask you about the occult." He says slowly.

I can't help but stiffen. "The occult." My fingers go to the blister again. It stings like nobody's business.

With a look at his sullen, but sickeningly hopeful face, I laugh.

"What?" he snaps. His single visible eye narrows with irritation, and he offers a bit of consoling explanation. "Sebastian told me about your summoning." _Bingo._

"So you want to know about the occult because you want something." I look at him sideways, waiting for him to reveal something else.

But Ciel is no easy mark. He rolls his sleeves back. "What do you _know_ about the spirit world?" he asks instead. A vague and unsatisfying request that tells _too_ little about him.

"I know lots of things." If he wants to be vague, I will answer with empty bullshit. We trade smiles for a minute.

Ciel crosses his arms and sticks out his chin. He's mute for a minute longer.

Time passes too slowly. Impatience is a weakness in most people's eyes, but I know how to play the card right. Intuition and luck will keep me straight down the path to victory. "You wanna know about summoning, right?" I toss my fringe out of my face, trying to look like a cat with a string. That's the way he wants to see an informant—under his control and needy. "It's just the basics, you know. Getting them to come is _easy._ "

Ciel actually leans toward me. "And what comes after is hard? Is supposed to be hard?" He almost trips over his words.

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. Ciel is really struggling here. But _why_ would he ask about that? Doesn't he have firsthand experience? I fiddle with the fabric of my nightshirt. "You want something to help you, huh. Something that Sebastian can't give you."

He stiffens at that, and I smile wider.

Ciel stops breathing. He literally can't seem to find his breath.

I laugh, delighted to have found something at last. "Why don't you tell me all about it?" I was going for sympathetic, but my voice comes off different. Excited, maybe.

Whatever.

"Alois."

I grit my teeth. This isn't the wheedling or teasing of a boy I've known forever. This is a dangerous calm that I've only heard sometimes. And almost _never_ directed at me.

" _Tell_ me." Each word is a dagger in his hand.

Scowling, I wonder what he thinks I'll say.

"Why should I?" I snap back. My eyes narrow, and I pull away from him. "God, you're making me _hot._ "

Ciel is relentless when he's after something. Like a damn dog after a rabbit. "It's not good business to deny requests." He says thinly.

I smile just as lazily as Sebastian, and I lean a little less dramatically. "Business?" I drawl.

Ciel isn't happy to repeat himself. "If you can't tell me anything directly, let me know this; how much of your documents pertaining to the subject remain in your possession?"

"Quite a few were demolished. In the flames." I snort. "And what I wasn't using wasn't exactly chock full of little known secrets to…whatever one does after summoning the beasts." I wave my hand dismissively.

Ciel slumps. "…you really don't—"

"—hey." I interrupt forcefully. "I didn't say I lost everything. I've got some books in my study."

Ciel stares at me. Of course, it was the room he was just in. He's probably trying to remember titles on the shelves.

I snort. "You didn't think I'd just leave occult texts in the _open_ , did you? The _encyclopedias,_ Ciel. It's just the binding." I feel my lips tighten and thin with a smile. I laugh. "I've got journals, articles and spells about all sorts of things. Precious little about summoning, though. That subject is off limits even in magical circles for the most part."

Ciel nods slowly. He's probably weighing his desire for knowledge against the favor he'll _owe_ me. "I'd love a chance to take a look." He says at last.

"What exactly do you need? I might know just the book with a bit more specifics," I enunciate the words slowly. If he tells me…

More information about Ciel's mysterious black shadow. My _ideal_ fairy servant.

Ciel swallows. "I need to uncover Sebastian's true name. His magic Name. Something to hold over him."

I kick my feet idly, considering. So ruthless, crafty Phantomhive is in a tight spot with his servant. Perfect. All the easier for me to try and work out a way to steal him.

I shrug. "You ought to ask him." I suggest.

Ciel glares at me. "No. He doesn't know I'm looking. He'll go ahead of me and wipe out anything that might help. He'll—"

"I don't mean _now._ " I snap. "Sugar him up a bit. Make him _adore_ you. He'll tell you himself if you can play him right." I insist.

Ciel's scoff turns into a cough. "You must be joking. He's a _demon._ Romance and flowers will hardly work."

I laugh. The sound is not pleasant. "Have you seen him around you? He's already halfway there." I maintain, jealousy churning uncomfortably in my gut.

And then…

_Memory flies over me like wind, and I can't remember if I'm sixteen or seven—the playgrounds with kids my and Luca's age pointedly ignoring us, and the smell of sweat and heat on the air. I remember how bratty and stupid they all were, and how I just wished they'd all die._

That and sitting by my brother and licking our fingers free of crumbs. Waiting for someone to notice when we didn't have dinner to go home to.

And that memory, just because someone opened the window. The wind always blows in when Ciel's around.

Ciel is quiet. He looks like someone just slugged him good, but he's not convinced. "Alois." He says slowly. My eyes refocus.

He's quick. One of the only ones our age who realize that's a firm, solid tie to the here and now—my name. One of the only people who can pull me back on the verge of slipping.

"I don't know how." He says in a small voice. His shoulders are pulled in so tight and tense he looks like a kid.

"Oh." I fidget. "So I guess those vids aren't consented, huh?" I muse. It just came out.

Ciel freezes. Says nothing. He fixes me with a look so cold and calculating that I'm sure he must be panicking.

Is he weighing my value against my knowledge of something he wants hidden? Or is he simply lost in the memory? I try and move the conversation on.

"…you know, it doesn't matter." Lame, but true.

Ciel continues with that look.

I hurry on. "Your _bosses_ pro'lly wouldn't care to know how you got…um, anyways." I fidget. Figuring out when to stop explaining and _shut up_ hasn't exactly been my strong suit.

I try to find my place. "It's so annoying that nobody understands how stupid the tricks are—" I break off again. "It's them. Not the prostitutes." I try again. "Turning a man so hot for action he'd suck his own dick isn't the point." I snap. Having to explain something so basic makes me irritable.

Ciel looks one step short of terrified. God. Who'd have guessed he's so afraid of sex?

"Listen. Just spend time with him. Let him talk and listen. Find out what he likes and do it." I hold out my hand.

Ciel takes it awkwardly. "Romance." He says darkly. " _Why_ would that work on a demon?" he repeats.

Fighting anger now, I almost break his fingers. Oddly enough, Ciel doesn't let go. "You are so stupid." I shake my head. "People like to be flattered. Not obviously, but carefully." I let go of his hand, and he rubs at the knuckles. I look at him. "Demons won't be so different. Trust me."

Familiar irritation flashes in Ciel's eyes. "The logic you're using is completely unsound."

I shrug. "Well then, just give it a try, and I'll keep my ear out." I stare at the wall, certain he's ready to go, and I'm impatient for him to hurry up and do it already.

"Everything will be all right." I mutter.

Ciel looks at me darkly. "Feel better soon." He bids, and he stands up unsettlingly fast.

My head swims. "Mm. You too."

Before I look up, he's already gone.


	3. Sebastian takes care of the video

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few days before the events in chapter 1 and 2.)

(Ciel _)_

Red mouth, sharp teeth… behind closed eyes, that's all I can see.

The sound of the door opening draws my attention. I hunch farther into my covers, and peer out into the interrupted darkness.

My "personal assistant" stands at the door, bent at the waist with a tray of tea, his trendy shirt and vest still impeccable even at this hour. All this could be overlooked, if it weren't for his face. That is, his smirk. He smiles at me with half-lidded eyes and says something that I don't quite catch…his lips move, at any rate.

With his meticulously styled-to-look-casual hair and his tight fitting black clothes, he looks like a celebrity of some kind…or someone in the grittier part of town, maybe working in a casino.

He takes several steps over to my bed and reaches out to smooth my pillow with his long hands. I notice something like a hum, or some other soothing noise. "Chamomile tea for you, little master."

I sit up, and accept the cup. Sebastian holds very still, keeping the tray balanced. He watches me, and I shiver. Hunger. Anticipation. Surely that's what's behind his eyes…the mocking eyes of the demon I made a bargain with.

_"My, my, but what a small master." Sharp and honeyed words drip through the darkness. My eyes won't adjust to the changing light—the flickering candles and inky darkness blur. There was something in the water…the thing behind me…the eyes…_

I sip the tea and try to forget my dreams. "Thank you, Sebastian. That will be all." I tap my ring against the china cup, and avert my eyes.

"As you wish." Sebastian smiles, and I see another hint of tongue and teeth. I shiver. Sebastian sets the tray on my nightstand, and his hands retreat, like white moths from a flame too hot. He moves like a fox, feet padding quietly to the door. He stops at the door, and inexplicably puts a finger to his lips. "Sleep quietly, little master. Your neighbors will talk."

That thin finger on his lips, a reminder of the secret contract...the thing that saved me from a nightmarish death which is simultaneously my ticket to hell.

I nod, and hold my teacup. "Did I scream?" I wonder. The flat walls are too thin— I'll hear complaints in the morning.

Sebastian smiles, the picture of cheer and amusement. "Perhaps they were out, or too drunk to notice." His eyes crinkle. "Good evening, young master."

I drink my tea and turn out the light. My clock reads 1:22.

Today is my birthday.

There's only one year left…

That dream—the memory is always strongest around my birthday. Memories of torture, pain and humiliation taunt me. But it's that dark hour when my black servant came, and that weighs on my mind.

One year left…

" _I want_ power." _I choked out, tears streaming, leaving streaks down my dirty face._ " _Enough to punish the—_ " _my voice breaks,_ " _filth that did this to me. To punish the people who dishonored my family name._ "

" _Of course,_ " _the demon breathes, his face in shadow._ " _Let's make a deal, little boy. I will be your power and grant you three conditions to form the basis of our contract. In exchange, you will grant me one._ " _The eyes flash._ " _I will devour your soul at the end of our contract in six or sixty-six years. The first, and you will command all my abilities as a personal servant. The latter, and I will save you this night and serve you once a year for every year remaining._ " _His long arms snatch through the darkness to grasp my hair and face._ " _Choose._ "

" _Six._ " _I stammer._

" _As you wish._ " _and his form ripples like a reflection on a misty lake._ " _Then let us carve a contract seal on each other's bodies…_ " _he leans in, and I can see those white, sharp teeth once more._ " _where to put it…_ "

I close my eyes and try to think of anything else.

One year left...

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

As my birthday rolls around, something happens every year. This year is no exception.

The fourth time I find hint of the video came from a Google search. I was looking into a "new religion" group for a job, scrolling through the results when TabooXXX comes up halfway through the second page. "Hot demon dangerous devil real video ritual sex" and "local religion," the short description reads, along with a few bold, other seemingly random words.

An uncomfortable feeling makes my stomach clench and me set my jaw. For a moment, my hand freezes, and I don't click on the link, don't even want to check to make sure it's not me, not that day. But the moment passes, and suspicion and irritation mingle with fear and anger.

I click. The site loads, and there's a ten second preview and a close-up of a boy's face and some adult's looking like he's enjoying himself freezes on the screen before an ad/log-in screen pops up.

"You have reached the limit of free viewing. Sign up for membership for more hot videos!"

My stomach lurches, and my head reals with pent up emotion. I need to do something about this. _Now._

"Sebastian! Come here." I wait for him to appear in the doorway before gesturing at the screen. "What's this?"

"Pray tell, dear master," he purrs.

I type a command, and it disappears, revealing the faces.

"Find out who uploaded this and see to it that they don't do it again. Destroy their server, and find out if anyone _else_ has it. Take care of it _right_ this time."

"I think," Sebastian says slowly, "this may be a distraction to your work." Sharp teeth glint in the iridescent light.

"You presume too much. It's an _order_ , Sebastian. See to it. You didn't take care of them all." I growl, wishing I could step out of my skin and walk away from the video frozen on my computer screen. "This time, make it permanent."

With his hands clasped loosely behind his back, Sebastian tilts his head to the side. "Permanently erased…correct?"

"Precisely. Don't let them get away." I close the screen.

A flick of Sebastian's tongue. "Mm," he smiles. "Another person foolish enough to put _that_ cult video up for sale…" he rolls his shoulders, looking as dangerous as a hunting cat. "…surely they've heard the rumors."

"There shouldn't _be_ rumors." I snort. "I told you; this is to be completely taken care of. Erased from living memory and _burned_ out of anyone responsible."

Sebastian's smile is dark. "I believe you know how I feel on the matter," he says mildly, drolling ever-so-slightly.

"I won't use the video to find Them." I say curtly. "You _know_ all the real leads from the site were used up years ago."

"Yes. Of course."

I gesture at the computer. "The files are all open. Read it and leave immediately."

Sebastian's lips twitch. "And would the young master be having desert before I leave, or go without?" he asks.

"Just go."

With the formalities over, I step aside to let him take the computer to his room.

Best to let him work in silence. I certainly have nothing left to say.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

(Sebastian)

Vanessa's shines a pale red in mid-afternoon. While it is certainly a gaudy display in the night, it merely looks pathetic in the grey skies of afternoon.

I enter the shop, and give a cursory look around. There are several rows of shelves holding DVDs, and a rack near the register with several magazines sporting scantily dressed men and women.

My eyes go to the man behind the counter. He's of indeterminable middle age, wearing a shiny shirt and black trousers, a bowler-like top hat, and a pinstriped vest. What could have once been high fashion or proof of high status now looks like a circus ringleader's getup.

I look at the man with half lidded eyes and offer him an elegant smile at a jaunty angle. I take a step forward and let my voice carry a hint of amusement. These creatures can be such interesting pets, after all.

"I have on good account, sir," I pause. _Sir_ is surely overdoing it. But I continue anyway. "That there's something that might please a certain gentleman's fancy." I take the remaining few steps in the crowded room, ignoring the rows of DVDs and pictures.

The man nods, chewing gum in the same way a cow chews its cud. He gestures to the rows of videos and offers an almost bored smile. "There's all sorts here, mister." And he settles back onto his stool, flicking through some magazine.

I relax my features to something resembling placid amusement. "Oh, yes, I'm sure there is." I lean in close, putting manicured nails on the plastic counter. "I was looking for something less tame." My nails tap the counter. I'm tempted to gauge small trails down it, but not yet, not yet. Can't tip my hand so soon.

But then, there appears to be more than one owner, and the day proceeds most rapidly. I want my information. This simple man would probably understand something simple and direct best, after all.

"I was hoping you had a computer I could borrow." I smile again, my tone polite, but insistent. I reach into my suit pocket and remove a handwritten business card. I push it gingerly before him. I wrote it earlier; _tabooxxx_ , it reads. The card looks only marginally more elegant in handwritten calligraphy, but it lacks the finesse I hoped to give it, but of course, the name suits the sordid nature of the content.

The man's eyes widen, his brows rising to accent his marginally receding hairline.

"I came by to pay the owners a visit. Have you got some sort of ledger or balance system here?" I arch one eyebrow. "Shall you ring them, or shall I make a house call?"

The man furrows his eyebrows, and sets his jaw. "Now, you just hold on a minute mister, I don't know anything about that site—" he stops talking the instant he sees my hand move for my knife.

Of course he's too late. I press the blade against his throat, enjoying the acrid scent of fear and just a whiff of blood. The silverware slides through the skin easily, but I hold my hand steady, not wanting to bleed him out or damage his vocal cords. These things require a certain timing.

The change is instantaneous. He stiffens and freezes, and then swallows hard. His eyes move from me to the door, to the security camera in one corner. His lip trembles, and he begins to talk. "Oh shit, shit man, I dun know nothin'," he blubbers, his face going pale. "I just work the desk, man. I dun know—"

I shake my head slowly, clicking my tongue. "Ah, but that's not true, Mr. Thompson." I give a weary sigh and look at him reproaching. " _You_ are this little shop's proprietor, I believe. And you deposit the money from several dummy companies for you and your business partners to access." I smile, bearing my teeth. "I want those names. Tell me, or I'll slit your throat."

The man' knees shake so badly that he sways.

I leap onto the counter, steadying him. "Hush, now, stop your crying. You'll slit your own throat this way," I croon, my voice low and thick with humor.

"Fuck man, just fuck! I ain't done nothin'—"

I make an _tisk_ ing noise. "No, no. No begging and no blind accusation. My master sent me here to clean shop." I feel my eyes warm with the order, see everything in brilliant red for a moment. "I'll rid the world on one tacky shop, find the owner and take care of the server."

Hunt down, more like. Stalking sounds agreeable, as well. I inhale slowly, taking in the scent of fear again. I hop off the counter.

Fear hammering in his chest, Mr. Thompson starts to speak. "I don't got nothing to do with it, man, Jack and Scott—they run that thing—I don't have—" He looks to the camera and door again, anxious for someone to come in and—what? Save him? Distract me? The thought is amusing.

"Jack and Scott?" I say languidly, and join him behind the desk. I run one finger across the shelf under the register. Dust coats my finger. No matter. Seeing nothing that looks like a ledger, I decide to check the back. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. It's been a pleasure."

I turn to walk toward the "Staff Only" door, my steps slow and steady. I bring my hand up and casually fling my knife into the man's throat. I'll have to remember to take it with me when I'm done here.

I walk in, expecting to find a pig stall of an office. I'm not disappointed. But there' nothing on paper about Tabooxxx. I sigh, and sit down at the computer. I suppose I can purge the system and send a virus out from here as well as anywhere else. Jack and Scott will be easy enough to find. Thompson's computer likely holds all the keys I need.

I smile, settling in for the long game.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

(Ciel)

Darkness.

There's nothing but darkness. I close my eyes, but in a dream, it doesn't help. It never does.

"Hello?" I call out. Shadows whisper a wordless reply.

I can feel the dark on my face like a blanket of fog. It's enough to make me open my mouth to scream.

But silence erupts from me, clinging to my tongue and licking my lips like an old, too-familiar friend.

Then, "Boy?" a voice, light and airy, interrupts the quiet. With a start, I know the voice to be the sound of the wind.

I smile into the darkness, but I can feel it's not a happy smile. More like a tired sneer or a jack-o'-lanterns' hallow grin. "The airy scent of spring is on you," I say, and the words are not mine. I hear them and repeat like a fairy boy in a limerick.

With a laugh like a gale, the voice disappears. My only friend is gone here, and I am alone again.

Dreams are strange. The simplest of actions or situations are turned ominous by a gut-wrenching, overpowering loneliness, fear, and _dread_ that's enough to catch and _devour_ your breath. I know this. I know it's a dream. But like all the worst of nightmares, I'm powerless to change what I see, and it leaves me shaking.

The dream flickers. The darkness seems deeper, the quiet more subdued.

Out of the silence, a chuckle emerges. Fingernails digging into my palms seem to ease, and I know they were mine. But still, I am trapped here.

It's everywhere and nowhere at once. I hate dreams for that reason.

White, gloved hands with the look of antiquity free my wrists. A red mouth. Sharp, white teeth.

The boy that was me trembles, and the me that I am watches between hollowness and anticipation.

"A name for a name," the voice is quite familiar. I know it better than my own.

Then there are eyes. Relentless, cool eyes fastening on me.

I open my mouth to speak.


	4. his butler, reporting

Chapter 4  
(Ciel)

I wake up breathing hard. My head is filled of half-remembered memories, mixed with terrifying (probably) fictitious images of Sebastian's true form. High heels and burning eyes. A face marked out by swirling darkness- something horrible underneath, I know, but I just can't make it out- all overlaying his sly smile. His knowing eyes and mocking tone.

In my memory, Sebastian's mouth curves up as though to smile, but then the tip of his tongue touches his lip. Decidedly (dangerously) slow, he licks his lower lip.

"You have made a great sacrifice in blood, pain and shame. The toll has been paid..." amusement where there should be none. "...so you may make a binding contract with me and grant your wishes- or not- by your own will." The words are low, and suggestive, like the quiet murmurings my mother used before, when she was urging me to bed. His actual words are like thistles sticking in my ears.

I want to clear my head. The window is hard to push open; it's been repainted so many times that it doesn't seem to fit properly. But it opens, and air comes in. Winter air feels crisp in my lungs, like I'm breathing in something piercing. I take a few deep breaths, feeling my lungs tighten.

At length, I close the window and go back to bed, my thoughts heavy and swirling in a maelstrom of emotions and memory. When I finally do get back to sleep, it's not nightmare phantoms that trouble me, but memories of a past out of reach.

Nearly happy memories that are almost worse that the nightmares.

"Madam Red?" A man wearing a collared shirt calls from a short distance.

The lady looks up from her seat on the bench, her legs crossed in her pencil skirt. Her hand is not far from a stylish bag containing her cellphone and work papers. It tightens around the opening without her seeming to notice.

"Yes," she answers. Her tone is polite, if brisk.

At her feet, Ciel looks up from a quiet game on the ground. His large blue eyes are made even bigger in his pale face.

"A word, please?" The man eyes the boy on the ground, gesturing that they step away from him.

Madam Red purses her perfectly painted lips and arches an eyebrow. "And you are?" Her tone is belittling, and her gaze sharp.

"I work with Dr. Schultz," the man says, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. The big man shifts his weight awkwardly before Madam Red and her nephew.

Madam Red nods and stands up."Don't leave from this bench. I'll be watching you from over there." She tells Ciel, not seeing or not caring about his sudden, worried stillness.

Ciel watches the two adults intently, his stick falling to the ground. The wind rustles his hair. His eyes are fixed on his aunt, who gestures cold authority and strict negation. She waves her hand to gesture, "Now." or perhaps "soon," and the man says something in return. Just when it looks like the lady doctor will walk away, he says something again, and she freezes.

Slowly, her body tenses. Her hands clench around her bag, the other hand tightening into a fist. Her features are arranged to show annoyance, but all else screams fear and anger.

She stalks back over to the bench and sits down. "Your daddy certainly has stirred up a hive of bees." She mutters. Then she smiles a thin, fixed smile. "But no matter. Do you want to learn a little trick? We can still annoy that man over there." She smiles a sneaky, cunning smile best suited to a young woman.

"Shall we catch his trousers on fire?" she asks.

Ciel's eyes widen, and he looks to the man. He frowns a little uncertainly. "You shouldn't do that, Aunt Anne." he shakes his head quick and sharp for emphasis, looking both worried and disbelieving.

Madam Red laughs, covering her smile with a gloved hand. "Just make him feel a bit hot. No need to get your knickers in a twist." She teases, her tone light and playful. "It'll be our little secret."

With that, she bends over and presses a finger to Ciel's lips, and the secret is sealed.

Ciel turns to watch the man, wondering what the fire would feel like.

His hands clench tight, and he watches his aunt- so similar in features to his mama- do a dirty little trick.

A game. It's just a game, right?

o0o0o0o0o

(Sebastian)

I reenter the Phantomhive flat at three AM—just enough time to clean up, and do a few chores before morning. I grade a few of Ciel's assignments and prepare pie crusts and bread dough for the morning's breakfast.

As per the daily schedule, I go in Ciel's room at seven. A book lies on his bed stand, and his laptop hums quietly on his desk—hibernating rather than properly turned off. I return the book to its shelf and tap in a command for the computer to shut down before approaching the young master's bedside.

His covers are strewn about, the sheets kicked all the way to the bottom and the downy comforter rumpled around him. He looks like a small animal, curled about and protecting his vulnerable middle. Even his hair is in disarray...

I lean in close, gently brushing his long fringe away from his face.

"It's time to wake up, little master." I straighten and move to open the curtains.

Ciel is quick to wake, as always. But the way he clutches at his sheet, grasping for a blanket that isn't there, and by his swollen eyes...all this tells me he woke earlier, or was crying in his sleep.. The state of his nightgown and bed sheets suggests a nightmare rather than sickness, however. I keep my face placid as decorum demands and go about finishing the morning routine.

"I've prepared oatmeal, wheat bread, yogurt and pudding. For morning tea, I suggest Darjeeling or white tea with peach. What will you be having?"

"Never mind that," his voice is breathy, almost hoarse with disuse. "Report."

I nod and begin. "I found the server and took it down. Rest your paranoid little head, any videos staring anyone resembling a certain young master have been taken down. I also spoke with the owner of the website and his colleagues. Would you like their names?"

Ciel scowls at that, and pushes himself up into a sitting position. "It's not paranoia if they actually continue to pop up. If I could go a year without rumor or hint of them—" he clutches the cover once more, and then brushes it off with more force than strictly necessary.

"That simply is the nature of these modern conveniences," I shrug. "Once it's been on the net, someone will save a copy." I turn to approach the door. "It would be best if you could set yourself apart, young master. Ordering me to dispose of it is one thing, but working yourself into nightmares is quite another." I hold his gaze for a moment, and then drop my eyes, as is appropriate.

But not before I notice Ciel's pale complexion stained pink when he flushes. "Don't think you can lecture me, Sebastian. You presume too much." He hisses.

His scowls makes him look his age for the first time this morning. His face is pinched and worried, but his eye shines bright with anger. However, I notice that it's his anger and embarrassment that make him quick to get out of bed.

I give a small bow. "Please excuse me, little master." I smile as I say it, though my thoughts already stray.

Our last year together…teasing him is already seeming that much more appealing. How much he's changed since he was a child, but also, his soul- aaah, his soul- is as appealing as ever. Like a well-cut gem smeared with grease, it sparkles all the brighter for its impoverished surroundings.

Ciel stands, and moves to the other side of his small bedroom. He opens the wardrobe, idly pushing through his clothing.

I clear my throat. "What will you be having for breakfast? It will be ready when you come down."

"Darjeeling , oatmeal, yogurt and a bit of fruit," he mutters.

"Underst—" I begin,

"And I want their names after breakfast, and a list of their possible sources." Ciel interrupts, swirling around to glare. "I want to make progress, Sebastian, not just clean up after your continued mistakes."

I chuckle. "I believe your little endeavors in the crime have made you bolder, young master. Let's enjoy this last year. It would be tragic indeed if your little vendetta turned up nothing."

Fear, anxiety and anger play in Ciel's eyes, the latter seemingly winning. He presses his lips together and readjusts his leather eye patch. He looks to the ceiling, reminding me of another time with this boy.

Ciel staring up at the night sky, oblivious to the sounds of fire engines and police sirens soon to rush to the scene. That blank, empty stare of a child deep in shock, allowing for a glimpse of his damaged soul. His hands quaver like little white birds, and his marked eye streams tears and blood...

...tears that fall onto soft, rounded cheeks...

...and into the corner of a lush mouth.

That little boy was doll-like in his perfection, marred with scars I helped facilitate. A delightful toy.

Ciel turns back to me, nerves making him testy. "This place needs to be cleaned." While he glances around, he continues talking. "Of course, I still expect you to teach morning lessons, and prepare an afternoon snack." His single visible eye fixes on a spot in the corner, near a plush toy half finished on the work bench. "I want something Asian for a snack. Almond Jelly, maybe. And I want it with fresh Chinese Almonds."

It seems he's falling back on keeping me busy, running me about. How charming.

"Of course." I murmur, and bow out. There is much to be done...this morning, or this year, the difference seems to be minuscule.

I both look forward to and dread the end of this year…but a contract is a contract. I will not be persuaded out of the terms, even for Ciel Phantomhive.

I have waited many a year for such a soul...and his sweet hands and trifling orders will not stay me.

I look at his visible eye, and recall the marked one. It will begin, I think, with gentle kisses...and teeth to graze his swollen lips, tasting tears of regret and pain...thinking of it now makes me laugh with delight.

I wonder...should I hold his hand?

Or let the little thing pound me with his fists?

I can almost feel his breath on my cheek. Almost taste salt tears...

Ah, but I will wait.

Just a little longer.


	5. Lizzy, the voice on the wind

(Ciel )

The situation with Sebastian must be resolved. I run the words over in my head, and remnant anxiety threatens to spill out from behind tightly pressed lips. _That day_ has come and gone, but the time limit lays heavily on my thoughts. It's uncomfortable to say the least.

I pull on some clothes and am shrugging on a light jacket to head outside when the doorbell sounds. I'm not expecting anyone.

A quick look into the peephole reveals Mei-Rin waving at me, shouting "Hey Ciel! Lemme in." She grins at me.

I open the door reluctantly, and Mei-Rin bounds in.

"Thought I'd come by and help with your washing up, or the laundry." And just like that, she walks over to the kitchen sink looking for dishes. But of course Sebastian never leaves dishes lying around, so she pokes around a bit more, rattling pots and pans that have already been put away.

"Wait a minute, Mei-Rin, I don't need any help cleaning."

"Sure you do. Any boy your age could see some help! And I heard from Lau that Mr. Sebastian is out today." Something clatters to the ground. A dish, probably, by the breaking and scattering noise. "Whoops." Mei-Rin exclaims. "Where's the dust pan?"

Mei-Rin has always been like that when around me— flustered and well meaning, and extremely klutzy. Broken dishes in exchange for die-hard loyalty and assassin skills, though. A fair trade, but not the person I'd pick for a housekeeper.

"You're not a maid." I remind her. "And I can manage on my own for a few hours without Sebastian."

"Oh please," she grins, all smiles and glasses. "You'd be lost without him. I've seen how devoted you two are." Broken pieces (or those she saw, anyway) in the bin, she walks right into my room.

"Aha, see, it _is_ messy!" She holds up my dirty night shirt as evidence.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I snatch at the clothes thoughtlessly left on the floor and eye the things I left lying around. "Mei-Rin, it's not that bad. Get out of my room—"

Mei-Rin ignores the open sock drawer, the water tumbler and any normal clutter and instead goes to the one thing I'd completely forgotten about—the bent corner of a magazine barely sticking out of a stack of files.

Considering her eye-sight, I suppose it makes sense. It was farthest from the shirt, after all.

"Your files are all cluttered," she lifts a few folders and begins to tap them on the desk to straighten the edges. The magazine slides out, along with some photographs—things that should be paper-clipped in the files.

Mei-Rin picks up the magazine and examines it for three long seconds. Her face and neck turn a bright pink, and she drops the magazine. "Ahaha, that's not a file. Don't teenaged boys usually hide these under mattresses or on their computers?"

"It was for work," I protest, blushing intensely now, I pick up the photos and magazine.

Mei-Rin laughs and picks up my socks and night shirt. "I'll just do the laundry."

"No, really, I don't need help."

"Just because I found your porn doesn't mean you get to kick me out, Ciel," She bustles over to my washing machine, and dumps the clothes in. "I'll get these all nice and cleaned up."

"That's not enough to do a full load," I try, but she's already starting the water and adding soap.

o0o0o0o0o

* * *

One tiring hour later, I can finally get out of my flat. I've gone and wandered down a familiar path, and the leaves are just beginning to green. It's a soft reminder of spring to come, and the whole route looks almost like it came out of a painting. So I walk, looking down at the cobble stones, seeking out pictures on the ground. I barely notice as a cool breeze blows down the path.

"One year…" I mumble, kicking a stray rock. I can't help but sigh.

Some of the leaves blow lightly, and I look upward on a whim. The sky's gone somewhere between teal and cerulean, like it might rain any moment.

Doing so brings on a wave of dizziness, weighing me down and distracting me. I lean against a wall to force my thoughts to slow. It's still early in the day, so very few people I know are actually awake.

There's another breeze that takes my breath away. The soft touch of the wind. I smile, and a memory floats up. I think of the way my father used to sit us in the courtyard of whatever building he was investigating, and we'd watch people pass by, chatting quietly about their lives.

_"That one's a banker," he'd say smugly. "And he's started something a little fishy…look how he's eying the shadows. Touching the left pocket again and again."_

_I'd look the person up and down, hoping to find Sherlock-Holmes-like clues to tell me whether my dad had been right or wrong._

_"And that one there? Between the two men. She's in a relationship with the man on the right. Her fingers brushed his arm that way—did you see?"_

My dad had been a fast-thinking, clever man always looking to show someone up. His sharp tongue, my mother said, is what got him into half their trouble. Thinking back on it, I suppose most of his 'friends' were really acquaintances, or business partners, or people who owed him something.

It's strange to think of him like that.

_"Boy."_

I blink. The call is surprisingly familiar. I'm sure I've heard it before, and recently. I stop in mid step. "Who is it?" I ask sharply, weariness plucking my patience away.

The only reply is a burst of whimsical, light laughter.

I scowl. "My name isn't _boy,_ ," I shout into the bushes, so full of indignation it makes my lungs burn.

The air is still, and for a moment, I hear nothing. A moment passes. "What is it, then?"

I scoff. "You don't know me." It's a quiet testament to the surprise I feel, saying something so obvious.

A stirring of leaves makes me spin around, but still I can't place the voice. "I do, Ciel Phantomhive."

With a sickly breath, I stop searching. "Lots of people know my name." I counter. "That doesn't mean you know me." I'm trying for 'haughty,' but the best I can pull off is tense.

"You're in trouble." The voice reminds me. "Only a year left on your life." It's a pleasant, warm tuft of air on my cheek, and the smell of cherry and green leaves assails me.

I start coughing. "I don't know what you're talking about." I choke out.

"Sebastian Michaelis," the voice croons, "is what you call him, isn't it?"

My heart pounding, I turn about slowly. Looking and listening for a voice that seems to fall from the sky. It's indistinguishable as young or old, and distance is proving a difficulty to pinpoint.

Without a reply to counter, the voice continues. "Your contract is up in less than a year…"

I swallow. "Yes," I admit. Who could know that, though? Precious few people have figured out what Sebastian is, and even fewer know about the…contract. No one, to my count.

Fluting as a bird on wing, it continues. "You don't want to die."

I stand rooted to the spot. But then I _see_ it—a face in the air, white-ish and blue-ish in places, and fading to green where leaves and vegetation are behind it. "I…" It's like a fairy from the tales my aunt told…I'm struck silent with surprise.

"Don't you want to ask?"

I try and offer a confident smirk, or at least a careless smile. But my expression is frozen. "Ask what?"

The wind seems to laugh again, and I hear it as the ruffling of silk and leaves. "How to keep from dying." The face on the wind grins.

"Tell me!" I demand sharply. I take a few paces forward, hoping to scare the thing into revealing a little more, a little quicker. There's no telling where Sebastian is right now; he could interrupt any moment. Panic and fear mix with anticipation, and I practically fall forward.

"I can't help you," it's behind me now, clear as a bell. The little sprite has disappeared from where I can see it, and the rush I got from thinking I _might_ live a little longer drops out of me.

"Tell me," I cry, my voice between pleading and demanding. My face can't seem to decide what expression to make, and I can feel my lips twitch with the strain of it. I close my eyes. "Tell me anything."

The voice of the wind is light and easy. "It's all in the name, Ciel Phantomhive." As if it's ever that simple.

I shake my head. "I don't understand."

The view of the flowers and the breeze on the wind. I can feel tension between my shoulders, and sweat in my eyes, stinging like pins rubbing sensitive tissue.

I close my eyes again imagining what my clever father might have said. Or what my charming and unpredictable mother might have done. "Surely the wind hears many things." I mumble, wishing for a warm hand to grab at, or an eye to catch. What could I offer the wind though? And what threat could possibly work?

Surprisingly, the face appears again, and it seems this time like that of a young girl, loose curling hair and rounded cheek to accent a smile like a wedge of the moon. "I do." she says, impish and teasing as any girl. "But what would you give me?"

I shrug, taken aback. "What do you _want?_ "

She shakes her head. "Something only you can give me." she waits on tiptoes fashioned of swirling leaves and twigs.

I look down at her, wondering what would flatter. Hands that cannot hold a gift and sweet mouth that cannot taste. I consider a moment, and say, "Someone to talk to." I at last give a winning smile, and she grins back at me.

"With tea parties and black eye patch rabbits?" she presses. "And ends to stories that rude people never finish?" Her curiosity is a living thing, and it bounces in her eyes. She's really quite...infatuated, I think, with the idea of a _companion._ I won that play, then.

I nod tightly. "Yes. Now please." I try not to beg and not to shout. "Just—"

"His name," she repeats. Her smile is bright as a new penny. But my confusion and open despair must be written on my face. "His _name._ Not what you call him. Not what you could call a dog, and not what you dug up from a heart's memory. His _true_ name."

I stand stock still. The implication is astounding- that I could unlock his secret and break his hold with a name. It's unthinkable.

Sebastian as another person…it's somehow unsettling. Thinking of him as someone else. In someone else's employ…

I blink and nod. "Get his real name." I sigh.

The girl smiles at me, like she spied a tasty treat. "He won't give it easily," she warns. "And the result itself may only _extend_ your term, not solve it." Her tone is a strange mix of unconcern and mischief, as though she was teaching me to cheat in a child's game. Glad to show me her cleverness, but uncaring if I win or lose. "Good luck to you." She whispers.

I don't know what to make of her.

And then she is gone.

I turn to the sky, touching my right eye. The day seems darker without her, but I'm not done. Looking for the right words, I let my gaze wander.

So much of the world is missing with only one eye showing. So much hidden.

Tomorrow, I think, I shall have to look with both eyes.

I smile to myself.

_Tomorrow._


	6. His master, deceitful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> information from an unexpected source. Ciel hesitates. Sebastian spies. (Onward, ye plot!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep, long chapter! Should have broken it up, I think...

(Ciel)  
"This will never work." I groan.

Pacing from kitchen to the loft isn't going to help. Neither will cleaning, reading, or games. I have too much on my mind to sit still, but not enough knowledge or plans to act. It's mind-numbingly complicated, but too scarcely thought out to even brainstorm.

What. _What_ to do with the remainder of my life.

The contract looms over me like a headstone's shadow.

From the loft, Sebastian's humming drifts down. He's using a new cleaning thing that supposedly is _much nicer_ , and busily keeping the workshop-that-doubles-as-bedroom clean. I sent him up there in hopes that he'd leave me alone, but he seems to recognize that. Came down twice already to 'check on the sweets' or 'inquire' about this or that. Just to annoy me.

He's oblivious to the passing of time. He just keeps acting as though nothing has changed…but for him, I suppose nothing has.

He still has to wait before he can devour my heart, soul, and body.

Maddening.

I reach into my jacket pocket searching for my smart phone as a buzz alerts me to a received mail. I type in the lock code and open it. The sender is an old contact, so although the message is coded, it's familiar. I decode it easily.

_Got a simple job for you, guard-dog. Tell the girls at Honey's they're not good enough to overlook their side business. My boys mentioned a drop in sales. You remember how The Lodge got in over their heads and wound up hurting? Explain it to Thurman and his girls. Make sure they get the message._

I lick my lips. I really don't want any tedious assignments right now. But I grit my teeth and lean back in my chair. The table I'm sitting at is in just the right spot to get plenty of natural light, but I'd rather sit in the dark right now. I feel a tightness behind my eyes threatening to turn into a full blown migraine.

I open my laptop to start doing some information gathering. I've bought, bribed, or hacked access to public taxes and employment information, but all I need for this is the owner's email or fax and to hire some thug to deliver the same message in person. There's always the option of sending Sebastian- which saves me the time and effort of making the arrangements. Ordinarily, I don't like to send him on such trivial matters. But the space and freedom his absence would give me might actually be good for some research into his past.

Romancing a demon just seems too ridiculous to even consider. I succeeded in all my other ventures by meticulous information-gathering and applying what I know. Something as handy as a _true_ name might be written down somewhere. I just need to find out where such things are written.

But first, I need to get him far enough away so he can't meddle.

I settle down to write my own warning.

_Thurman, tell your people they're risking a powerful man's displeasure with their secondary business. Remember whose territory you're on. Back off, or expect consequences. Keep quiet and start making apology plans._

There. It takes less than a minute to type, and only a few more to find the appropriate email and cell number.

"Sebastian," I call. I arrange myself to look as though I've been contemplating rather than doing my own legwork. "I've just sent an email to the owner of Honey's. I want you to deliver the second part of the message." I lean back into my chair. "Make sure he understands to tell his people to stay out of the local drug trade."

"I take it you'd like the message delivered immediately?" Sebastian arches an eyebrow.

"Yes." I close my eyes and set my elbows on the table. "I'd ask Finnian, but he made a wreck of his last job…if he ever learns more control, he would be perfect, but," I shrug. Hopefully, Sebastian will assume I just can't be bothered to send Meirin or Bard, not that I'm intentionally sending him out.

"Watch their shop for a few hours. Go in when most of the girls are there. Try and deliver your message with a witness—someone not too high up, or it might cause problems— would help spread the word."

Sebastian nods his understanding, his eyes glowing red. "Yes, my lord." He intones. And just like that, Sebastian leaves. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Now to get down to business. Should I take Alois up on his offer and look through his library? But Alois doesn't seem to have too much concerning demons. I don't even know what he was trying to summon.

 _"My, my. But what a small master you are."_ A flash of red eye and pointed teeth flickers in my mind's eye.

I didn't know either, true, but two ignorant students is hardly better.

My phone beeps a whirlwind of high, excited tones. It's pleasant enough, but all the same, it reminds me of some hyper squirrel. Or a game character. Speak of the devil...it's Finnian.

 _You online._ it reads.

I wish I could get away from it, but I'm feeling cornered. And I can hope for an unexpected bit of advice, so I quickly reply.

_Soon. You free?_

I pull back to the main screen of the laptop, click a few icons while the phone beeps redundantly. I think I know what it says, so I click on the computer's chat message instead.

_Hey Ciel! ;)  
_

The chat hails. I watch the text appear as I click and type back, _Can I talk to you?_

It takes just a second for the video chat icon to start ringing, and he answers pretty fast.

"Hey Ciel!"

Finnian isn't wearing his hat for once—but his hair is pinned up with too many hair grips, and all of them a hot red color. He looks happy, though, and spins around in front of the computer. It (and the camera) is mounted a few feet away from where he actually sits, and I know he has a wireless keyboard, too. Any time he gets too close or too wild with his equipment, it breaks. With some technical skills from Bard, he's finally got something besides a cheap thing he throws out every other day due to mishandling.

"Wha'cha been about, then?" he pulls at his strawberry blond hair, and finally stops spinning. I wonder how long it'll be before he trades in that chair for another one? He's obviously dying to tell me something, but has finally remembered a little bit of tact.

I don't have any kinds of actual favors to ask except a question or two—and would rather bring the subject of inquiry up slowly. "Nothing much," I move the eye patch a bit.

Finnian grins at me, excited and very pleased to hear that. "I have a new video game!" he blurts. So much for tact. "It's _reeeeeally_ cool, and the avatars are super. awesome. giant robots!" He starts waving his arms around, and what I think might be the game's plastic case. I see a splash of color and what might be a blob of title. I fear for its longevity.

"Is that right?" I try and sound interested.

"Yes! And the fighting scenes are wikid—the amo and the controls are just _great_ and look at the way the CG is going! It's unbelievable—" he's talking too fast for me to follow, and I really don't care.

So I offer a few noncommittal "Uh-huh"s and "Mm,"s, waiting for him to wear himself out. It doesn't take as long as it might have—for a sometimes brazen git, he has gotten a lot better in the time I've known him.

"So, has anything interesting been happening below?" I ask slowly, finally breaking what might otherwise turn into an hour long review.

Finnian calms down a notch. "Uhh, yeah? There's a tournament going on, you know, and I think I might be able to enter towards the end." He beams at me. A few years back, I managed to help him out of a tight situation, get him connected and out of meaningless, bloody fights and into a natural environment. He goes to tournaments now on his own two feet, advising young kids, sneaking them out of that life when he can, and watching out for certain cues—things I would like to know about.

"Such as?"

"Oh, it's nothing really big. I think they've realized what kind of stuff we'll put up with, even if they don't know exactly who we are…" he fidgets uncomfortably, spinning away from me before stealing a glance from a 180 turn. He looks every bit the child. "Um. I mean, I think we're doing good things." When he's facing me again, his smile is back in place.

"Ok then." I smile a tiny fraction at him, and gesture vaguely with a free hand. "Have you gotten on with that hike you were planning?" I ask instead, moving back to safer territory.

"Um, no…waiting for it to warm up a bit." Some of the boyishness has washed out of his expression, and it's replaced with a serious, probably-meant-to-seem loyal frown. He's not done with business yet, then?

"Well. Make sure you go. I can send you a few links if you're bored." I offer.

"Ciel?"

"Mm?"

"What did you want to talk about?" He's closer to the camera now, chin resting on his hands and foreshortened to look like a cute, overly-wide-eyed child.

I shrug. "Names." I say as casually as I dare.

"Of who?"

I look away, suddenly aware of how foolish this could sound. "Secret names…" the girl's voice comes back to me. "What do you know about it?"

He surprises me completely by nodding. Not laughing. Not asking what I mean. "You mean Names? Words of power?" He regards me seriously, tilting his chin into his shoulder. "I know that some people spend their lives searching for them. It's a whole way of magic, you know."

"I didn't." I tell him slowly. "What do you mean?"

Pleased to have something to tell me, he settles back into the chair. He looks smaller when he's not so close to the camera, and his long fringe makes him seem like a child. "Well, there's some people who look for names of common things. Like the wind, or stone, or fire." With the first, he makes a funny puffer fish face, then pounds one fist into his open palm, and waggles his fingers at the latter.

"It's real?" I ask. "And what about _people?_ " My excitement must be showing in my expression, for Finnian nearly jumps out of his skin to continue.

"Yeah! Everything has a Name!" He grins quite widely. "And it's not what you think! It's not like learning a language—you can't read it and pro-nounce it care-full-y or slowly and get any kinda reply." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Really."

"Uh-huh. It's in the _knowing,_ they say. I know this guy who's got the name of stone, and you know what? If he's on the ground, on concrete even, there's like _no_ way to beat him, and he's just super super strong. The trick is to get him off the ground—" he starts using his hands to talk again.

I cut him off. "You know him?"

"Uh, not know-him-like-I-met-him or anything." He cocks his head. "Say, you want me to look into it?"

Running my head through risks and potential gains, I frown a little. Sending Finnian to get any kind of information is risky—he's about as subtle as a bear. "If you hear anything about him being active around here, let me know." I settle for. "But no, I'm more interested in the theory."

Finnian nods enthusiastically, too many times. "Yeah! Ok. I can do that!" I think he might start spinning again, but he doesn't. He just grins at the video like I just told him we were going to the beach.

"Thank you, Finnian." I say quietly. I offer a tiny smile, and glance at the clock. I need to get going if I want to get any research done—and I've already web-searched enough. I need harder, more arcane facts to use as keywords. Maybe someone else can give me a new lead.

He nods some more. I think he wants to hug the camera, but fortunately, knows better. "Yeah!" His attention is starting to wander.

"Listen, I have to go. Talk to you later."

"Uh-huh! See you!" he waves some more, but makes no move to end the call.

I do it myself, and the last of the video is still Finnian grinning and waving, a blur of warm motion and reliable, strong and still silly, _faith._ In me, of all people. I stop staring at the computer, closing the screen.

If it's about magic, Madam Red or the Undertaker are my best resources.

"Our little secret," she'd said all those years ago. She knows secret ways, or at least has access to magical society.

I pick up my phone and select her number from the address book. It goes directly to her answering service, as usual. "Hello Aunt. I'll be talking with your assistant about visiting your place in a minute. I'd like to talk today in person, but I want to take a look your lovely library a well. Ask Grell, he'll tell you the details, I'm sure."

I hang up and dial the next number.

"Madam Red is at work, Ciel darling," Grell answers. "What can I do for you? Ah, it's been too long since we had a little get together. I thought about jumping out the office window, I really did." Grell sniffles a bit.

"Please don't," I sigh.

How many suicidal threats does this guy try, I wonder? My aunt apparently had him committed for more than a month before deciding to hire him, and frankly, I don't know why she keeps him around.

"What time will my aunt be getting back?" I idly make circles on the table with a finger, thinking of pentacles and chaos marks.

"Not until past 6, Ciel. But you know she doesn't like unannounced guests," Grell simpers.

"Do you think I could come over today? I need to talk—and use her library." I explain. "Could I come over an hour or so before she gets back?"

Grell is quiet. "I'm sure she won't mind you coming over, but the library will have to wait, Ciel."

I nod. "Of course. Well, I'll be over in a few hours. If you talk to Aunt Anne, let her know."

Grell makes vaguely happy, nervous noises, stumbling where even a mediocre secretary would flourish.

I hang up. It looks like I have time to go see Alois and Madam Red. I wonder how long I have before Sebastian finishes his task. Estimating three hours or so. Tasked to wait for witnesses will keep him out for a while, but not long enough—not until past six.

I lick my lips and make another phone call.

* * *

Alois' library, as predicted, has little enough about demons and their previous masters— much less their secret names.

I put the book on fairies down, bored of gruesome tales of fairies who kill their human lovers or hunt and kidnap children. I wonder if Alois has heard any of the stories I did—tales of fae spirits making clever promises and being defeated by even cleverer men.

Alois tilts backward in his chair to look at me. "Finished another one?" His eyes and face are blank. I wonder if he'll lash out in anger or fear at something—Alois is always over-the-top expressive. When he isn't, I worry about who he'll take his temper out on.

"I did." I try not to sigh, not to fret. But the idea that I only have one more year to live is wrapped about me like a heavy, black cloak. My fingers twitch—I flex them to disguise the movement.

I hear wind chimes out the window and imagine I hear the whisper of a voice.

"I'm going out to get a breath of fresh air."

Outside, I look up and around for her.

"Ci~el," the wind girl greets me, girlish pleasure coloring her voice. This time she's not an invisible impression of a person or spirit, but a flesh-and-blood girl before me. Her blonde hair and baby-doll dress make her look like a girl from nearly two centuries past, but still, she _is_ there.

I gape. "You—are you a demon, or a girl?" I want to know.

The girl purses her lips and wags a finger at me. "That's not a polite question, Ciel." But she shakes her curls, 'no,' anyways. "I'm a wind spirit…the girl is a medium." She clasps her hands together and spins in a half circle. "But don't mention it. Just talk to me and enjoy a cute conversation partner." She smiles.

"Sorry," I mumble. "…I know her." I say slowly. "Lizzy." For a moment, I'm thinking of her costumes for Halloween, her penchant for frilly things, and then her incredible way of _fighting._ The details blur in my mind, but she's a natural athlete. We used to play together as kids, but...I haven't seen her recently. Not until now.

"Yes?" She asks sweetly.

"Did you want something? Or find anything—?" I stumble over the words I'm so eager for them.

"Let's play a game." She babbles, cutting me off. "I'll hide a cute costume for you, and Sebastian at your Aunt's house, and you find it." She reaches for my arm, grasping it like I think couples did in the nineteenth century. "If you find it and wear it, I'll tell you a secret!"

I nod slowly. "Just like a cute lady," I muse, trying to appease my fickle wind spirit. "But how will you hide it in my _Aunt's_ house? Can your—" I stumble, looking at her flesh and body 'medium.' "…host…be able to go that far?"

"I already asked Mr. Sutcliff." She chirps. "Do you want to go for tea? I know a great café." She's already tugging me away from Alois' apartment.

I rush a look back only to see narrow green eyes watching. I try to gesture helplessly—to indicate there's no getting out of the invitation.

The annoyed expression vanishes like fog on a sunny day, and Alois waves and smiles a cheerful goodbye.

* * *

(Sebastian)

Young Master," I greet, putting a hand on my chest. "Would you care for a report, a snack, or early dinner?"

Ciel watches me coolly, his wide eyes betraying only a hint of emotion at my customary speed at completing an order.

"Report. I'm going to my Aunt's house for dinner. Tell me about the job and I'll write up the email before I go." Ciel walks to where his laptop waits, his pace brisk.

"Your Aunt's?" I raise both eyebrows marginally and frown in such a way to express bored curiosity.

"Yes." Ciel's voice is as controlled as his features, but he twists his family ring.

I keep my expression bland, but watch his pale fingers tap—anxious, or impatient?—on his laptop. He gathers it in and few other things (pens and a pocket journal) into a satchel.

He looks up at me as he pulls on a cap and adjusts the eye patch. No contacts today…no one to make an impression on. "Actually, I don't think I'll eat there. Sutcliff isn't so good a chef." He starts back down the stairs, pausing for the barest of moments at the door. "I want something nice today. Make something with handmade broth. And roast or smoke something. Don't skimp on desert either…" he taps his fingers against his trousers. "Baklava should do nicely."

The request is both offhanded and calculated—as though he lists off the first thing that comes to mind, but all of these are time consuming recipes. I smile. "As you wish, my lord." I bow.

He'll have to think of something more complicated than that to delay much longer than the trip to his Aunt's place. As a proper servant should, I've already started preparations for an ordinary dinner—purchased ingredients, and a good soup broth will take little time as I've already made the basic broth. Cream sauce for the lobster, and a spread for the bread along with a light soup should suffice. Dinner will be prepared—all but the final touches before the young master eats—in half an hour. Only a bit longer than it takes to get to his aunt's house.

I go to the kitchen to dice vegetables and bring the water to a boil.

* * *

Entering the Durless house would be easy, except that protocol demands that I use the actual entrance—or rather, the servant entrance. I ring the bell and wait for the poor excuse of a "personal assistant" to get the door.

I hear something clatter to the floor and hurried footsteps before the door swishes open. The antiquated wood squeaks in protest in spite of recently replaced hinges. "Sebastian!" Sutcliff croons, and it seems the not-quite-man has attempted makeup again. Eyes outlined in coal and shadowed lavishly with pearly pigments. It's enough to make my mouth curl.

"Where is the young master?" I say by way of greeting. As expected, this gets me a dangerous smile. The boy is, quite naturally, of higher concern than this unlikely specimen could be.

"What an antiquated way of talking…" He practically drawls. "Someone might mistake you for a prude." He runs one finger across the hall table. He tilts his chin down and lifts his gaze, effectively magnifying his eyes all the more with his glasses. He clears his throat. "He's in the library."

I nod my thanks and start up towards the library. The room is filled with musty books and a computer desk. Ciel has a leather book and a spiral binder on the table. He frowns at a bookshelf, scanning for something.

"Good evening," I remark, glancing over the titles. "Is there anything you're looking for?"

Ciel swirls about, his frown giving way to a look of surprise and dismay. "No." He snaps. "I'm just browsing."

Mysteries, medical journals and books on the occult are jumbled together seemingly at random—the library is either altogether unorganized, or seriously neglected. I glance at the desk.

Ah, the occult. An interesting topic for him to research, considering his traumatic background. I tilt my head, considering. I reach for a book on the top shelf, "Fairy tales as Grimoires. Myth and Fantasy" as a catalog to "Real World Terrors." I hand him the volume. "Looking for light reading?"

Ciel flushes, but snatches away the book. "I need more information…the people who," he swallows hard. "did it…might be magic users." He looks away, but his fingers clasp the book hard enough to turn white around the knuckles.

I nod.

"Ah, there you are Mr. Sebastian, Ciel." Sutcliff smiles toothily, threatening to smear his lipstick. "Will you be staying for dinner after all, then?" He bats his eyes suggestively.

"I'm afraid dinner arrangements have already been made." I knit my brows to suggest the polite regret I don't feel.

"Really? How unfortunate…" Sutcliff overdoes a pout so completely that his mouth looks like he's had an unfortunate mishap with a vacuum.

Downstairs, a melody begins to play, causing Sutcliff to straighten up almost comically, his playful pout vanishing as he nearly chews his manicured fingernails. He rushes out of the room.

"That would be Aunt Anne," Ciel smiles with satisfaction. "Go and talk with them, Sebastian. I'll clean up here." He makes a shooing gesture.

My lip curls, but Sutcliff smiles even as he tumbles down to greet his employer.

I hang back, following at a sedate pace to give them room to talk. Of course, being able to listen without them knowing is a benefit…

"—of course I am. My nephew is here, isn't he? Why don't you go out and get us something to eat—nothing too fancy, but not anything cheap. Let's see…"

"We're already 100 pounds over the budget, madam, and the next payment is due," Sutcliff whines. "Why don't we eat the nice pasta I made…he said he wants to eat at home anyways."

Madam Red gives a wounded noise, "I came home early to talk to him and he wants to go home to eat?" Her voice is just the right tone to be disappointed, but the slight shift in her posture suggests relief. I wonder if this 'payment' is due tonight…

I clear my throat, giving a slightly old-fashioned bow. "Indeed, I was asked to prepare dinner before he left, Madam Red." I smile smoothly. "He seems to want to talk with you in the library." I arch an eyebrow.

"Well then," Madam Red smiles. "Bring up some tea, then won't you? You, Sebastian, not Grell." She wrinkles her nose. "He still can't put a proper batch of tea on."

I smile languidly, sure that this will frustrate Sutcliff further. "Of course madam."

Ciel will be waiting for his aunt. Strange that her 'darling boy' should send me away, and then her. Are they conspiring? The thought amuses me more than either might guess…

Sutcliff indeed _stares_ at me. He follows at a heart's beat, and watches as I prepare the water, the leaves. It's minutes before the tray is ready, but they won't be expecting me yet…

"Does the Madam have any sweet preferences? See if there's anything Suitable, and I'll check if there's anything they need. "Addressing him directly requires force and indifference, lest he take unnecessary interest.

He'll probably find stale biscuits. I wonder, however, did they mismanage? Madam Red's fortune wasted…or perhaps there never was as much as anyone implied. Carefully, I balance the tray. Then again, Ciel's parents had all sorts of ties…to higher-ups on both ends of civil interest. Perhaps she fell out when they did, or her wealth was seized, much as Ciel's was.

At the end of the corridor, I pause. The tea should finish steeping in minutes yet, but this is a delicious chance. My young master's voice carries through the cracks nicely, along with a light hint of watery tears on the air. Anxious, is he?

"Your books of magic." His voice offers cool assurance, unshakable faith in himself. All things he leaned from his father, I suppose.

Madam Red takes a careful breath. She holds it, not saying anything.

"I wondered," Ciel continues, equally careful, "if you know about any specific magical…entities. Creatures if you will."

Well. So the scent of magic is hers, after all. It's a tangy, metallic thing that rolls on my tongue…not constant, but wafting in and out of my awareness.

The lady may have as red potential as her favored name—fiery passion and intensity. Ah. Yes indeed.

The lady exhales. There's relief, but surprise too. "Ciel. I thought you'd forgotten all of that life." she probably offers him that smile of hers. I wonder if she misses the opportunity to have this boy under her care…

Ciel continues. His voice tenses. "I saw your books…mostly spells, but could you tell me anything on…creatures or…? Specific magic users?"

Ah, but isn't _that_ interesting?

"Sebastian?"

Pain prickles my left hand like a line of fire. So the little one—not so very little any longer—has some sense after all. I can feel my teeth against my lips, sharp and deliciously cool.

I open the door and set down the pot. As Madam Red does nothing to indicate I should serve, I bow with one hand to my chest. This the boy should understand. I have obeyed his call.

Feeling rather than seeing his imperious look, I look up to see him tilt his chin in. "You are to leave now, and desist in any behavior unbecoming Phantomhive help. Including any further eavesdropping." I had almost forgotten his cheek. "I order it to be so."

Such an old fashioned turn of phrase. And yet how he likes to tease me of the very same fault. It's laughable.

Lazily rising from the slight bow, I meet his gaze and nod. I no longer bother hiding my smile. If he has something to hide, I willfind it. That is the truth of it. "Of course, little lordling." I say softly, as though teasing.

Madam Red certainly seems to think so, and she laughs a bright little laugh like the yip of a fox. "Thank you kindly for the tea, Sebastian. I suppose you have better things to do, now?" She waves her hand slowly, vaguely. A more polite dismissal, but a dismissal all the same.

I shrug. "Nothing tops my responsibility to Ciel…" That this is simultaneously truthful and ambiguous causes my smile to widen. I hide it with another slight incline, allowing my hair to hide most of my face. "But of course, family priorities are expected."

The Madam flinches. Her pretty complexion does not change though.

I arrange the tea cups and their saucers, and withdraw from the library.

Before the dull mutt-of-an-assistant of the house can accost me again, I move into another room...the study. I put my white gloved hands to keyboard, and wonder. My queries are thus: this household; its former wealth.

A few clicks, a few minutes later, and I have the page before me.

Well.

Isn't that interesting…

Perhaps family isn't so important after all.

Ah, but what will Ciel do…

Content in the shadow of fulfillment, I let my eyes drift closed. His next move will be stalled for a while yet, but I can near taste the stilling emotions. Anger and fear of dying (with revenge undone, his life a waste). This will be the dominant flavor…

Despair edged with a madness for truth, encased in lies.

Anxiety. Desire for acceptance he will never receive. A honey like sweetness turned to hard amber. I think of his white hands against a soft suit of Prussian blue…dark hair laid out in snowy drifts…

Freedom is ever yet out of his grasp. He will be mine.

…but until then? What _will_ the little thing do?

I smile to myself, and wait.

After all...what of it, if I wait now? The last of his dying breath will be mine to savor.


	7. Foreign Princes, unwanted visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one starts out light and fluffy. Then merges into some Stalker!Sebastian-ness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N ] * Miroir aus Casis is a French blackcurrant mousse cake. google for pretty images. my local pastry shop sells it.

(Ciel)

People think that if they know when they'll die, they can "settle their affairs," and "make peace." Like they'll just sit down and make a list of things they want to do before they croak, do them, and die happily on hospice or in a hospital or whatever. Some people might go that way, but I can't.

Dying without accomplishing the _only_ thing I wanted to keep living for—

No.

I won't cheat Sebastian out of his end of the deal, but if I can just get more time…time to finish this.

I crumple the paper napkin in my hand, wishing that there was someone I could talk to. Serious matters rarely exclude Sebastian though, and there's precious few I could trust the information with.

Bard, Mei-Rin, and Finnian wouldn't grasp the situation. Lau would only echo my words. Alois already knows too much. Who does that leave?

…my aunt, I suppose. My only surviving family. But still…Aunt Anne…

I lean back into my chair, thinking.

 _Scratch, scratch, thunk._ Small noises come from the staircase, the one blocked with a new-ish door fitted with a key supposedly only _I_ have. I get up slowly, treding softly. Downstairs, the doorknob rattles and then the scratching, metallic clink and thumps pause.

I freeze.

Someone is trying to get into my flat. My heart races. Who could have traced me back here? Who wants my information—or just me dead? I curse, wishing that Sebastian were not out sorting a couple of thugs who tried to keep some stolen goods from their boss.

Should I use a gun? It's risky—even with a silencer, but chances are, there'll be more than one, and probably both of them bigger and stronger than me.

I slide up to the door, gun in hand. Cautiously, I put my eye to the peephole. Outside, a dark haired figure prods at the lock with something. I click the safety off.

I take a deep breath and unlock the locks and deadbolt, leaving the chain in.

"Back away, or I'll shoot." I say slowly, keeping the gun trained on the tall, lean figure.

He looks up, startled at the sudden movement. A college student? Or a rich gang member? His dark eyes are wide, and his mouth is open foolishly. He looks quite…stupid.

My eyes narrow at the thing in his hand. I let out a breath…a key. What the hell does this mean?

His mouth is open and wagging before I can think it out. "Woah, is that real? I thought gun control was strict here." The boy laughs nervously. American, maybe, by the accent.

I point the gun down, switching the safety back into place. I doubt he's anything serious; maybe he's here on a dare. And there's no weapon in sight.

"Get away from the door." A second, more authoritative man says. He moves to stand in front of the richly clad boy. "Soma, go downstairs." He orders.

"What?" Surprise and annoyance masks the boy's fear. "Who's that, the cleaning service?"

I stare, incredulous, and close the door to undo the chain. I throw the door open, gun at my side and hands on my hips. "Why were you trying to get into my flat?" I demand, still half sure this is part of some poorly thought out prank. "Who made you that key?"

" _Your_ apartment?" the younger of the two steps out from behind the second. Soma, I think. "But I'm renting this apartment." He points a ringed finger at his chest.

Ignorant _and_ self-assured. Perfect. "Let me see your key." I hold out the hand _not_ holding the gun.

Unwilling to leave things be, the other man speaks up. "Soma, go downstairs. I believe we need to reconsider your rooms." Narrow eyed and dangerous-looking, the man towers over me.

I sigh again and carefully set the gun behind me on a table near the door. "Let me see." I repeat, stepping away from the gun and hands palm out.

Soma hands me the key, already smiling again. "We just got it today."

I examine it, and sure enough, it looks to be of the same make as my own key. On a hunch, I point to the door he's still standing in. We are all near the ground floor now, and I motion at the second door in the main hallway. Soma follows, a confused expression taking over his whole face. I find the door with an exaggerated motion, and insert the key. The door opens. " _Your_ flat. Kindly stay out of mine."

"That's it?" He shakes his head. "Didn't I say I wanted _the_ apartment? The house?" He shakes his head. "No way. My rooms can't be that small."

I scoff. "Our rooms and contract should be the same. What were you expecting? This is London."

He laughs good naturedly, completely unaware of my scoff, at both my and the bodyguard's incredulity. "I didn't look at the price. This is the best location!" He continues to smile broadly, and tilts his head to the side. His long hair swishes a little, and I wonder how much time and care it takes to have a style like that. He stands out, to say the least. Despite my scrutiny, he continues talking. "I guess it's not so different from my dorm, though. Well, maybe a little smaller, but I heard everything is smaller over here." He goes inside, spinning around in the entrance hall.

I turn to go.

"I'm Soma Asman Kadar. This is Agni, a friend of the family. It's nice to meet you!" He calls out, far too loudly. After all this, it seems both forward and polite at once. Too late for propriety, but offered even after a shaky first impression.

I stop and turn to see Soma holding out his hand to shake. Agni, bowing slightly at the waist, has softened his expression. Well.

I look at the outstretched hand, the fancy clothes. Agni is something like a body-guard, but he seems closer to the rich boy than that position alone might suggest. A butler, or maybe even a real personal assistant. Looking at them, it dawns on me exactly why this leaves me short of breath. We're worlds apart in experience, when once we might have been equals. Since that day, my wealth and status have since been revoked. Family ties don't mean much when they're all dead or distant.

Meeting now, we're too different.

I don't take the hand. "Ciel Phantomhive."

I go back upstairs and lock the door. Leaning against it, I hear Soma calling for me to have coffee with him, and Agni's lower voice advising something. I breathe slowly, counting in and out.

It makes me wonder…could I have been like that? An inexperienced, privileged youth, oblivious to danger in front of me? Unassuming. Friendly even.

I pace back and forth on my way to my room. Then I consider brewing a fresh pot of tea, but quickly abandon the idea. Sebastian will be back soon. I only need to wait.

I push Soma and his family friend out of my mind. It's of little importance.

* * *

The knocking continues.

"Shall I get the door." Sebastian offers.

"No." I shuffle the documents, wondering why some people can't accept the digital age. This should all be online. "He'll leave eventually." I remain fastidiously at the long table I use as a workspace.

Soma and Agni have stopped by for the umpteenth time in several days, knocking on my door. "Ci~el, have coffee with me. You gotta come out eventually. Let's hang out!" He rattles on. His tone is friendly, even after I've ignored him for days.

He's been more persistent than I would have counted on. I suppose his upbringing didn't teach him about taking 'no' as an answer.

The second day, he was teary-eyed, despondent. "Ciel, I didn't know you'd lost your parents." His empathy is expressed in persistent, slow words. Then he continues in a rather funny display of that brash, know-no-boundaries that I've come to expect from him. "Man! That's rough." Then he tried to embrace me, but I shut the door before he could.

Who'd he ask to find that out, anyways?

Upon reflection, my main suspect is Sebastian.

Meanwhile, the litany of "Hey!" continues. Over that, it's hard to concentrate.

"Why don't you let him in?" Sebastian suggests. "I prepared enough for two guests, and you weren't planning on going to work with me." Words drip off his tongue, warm and sweet as the honey I took in my milk, all those years ago.

Resigning myself to a momentary truce, I let them in. Maybe this rich kid will be useful somehow. Hopefully, a change in atmosphere and conversation will give me much needed insight. Sebastian serves tea and leaves me with the naïve American and his crazy body guard. I sip my tea, wondering if Soma will ask for coffee.

"Aa, tea time." Soma exclaims happily, setting his iPhone on the table. "Milk and sugar, sir?" He grins, imitating a cockney accent.

I roll my eyes. "And when did you get off the boat? I thought you'd been here a while. On a cruise or in a fancy hotel or something."

"Nah. I skipped hotels to experience living on my own." He leans forward, but unlike an excited Alois, his sleeves remain spotless. Alois, I suppose, isn't always aware of his surroundings… "In London!" He continues, still just as happily.

I nod, and take a sip of my tea again. "Why did you come to live in London? Are you an exchange student?" I put the cup down, but rest one hand on it, warming my fingers.

"Nah. Sort of doing an extended vacation, I guess." He smiles. "It turns out that with such cheap rent, my allowance is even bigger. I mean, I could eat out for every meal if I wanted." He smiles and then sips his tea with exaggerated poise. Then he settles into a princely pose again, completely at ease with Agni behind him and the sun on his olive skin.

I raise an eyebrow. Cheap? Even low end flats aren't _cheap_ here.

He begins to fidget as I let silence fall between us. We sip our tea. A minute passes. Finally, he tosses his hair in a show of exasperation I'm beginning to become familiar with. "You're so emo." He blurts out.

I stare.

"But that gloomy expression fits your image." He laughs in my face, apparently unable to keep his less-than blunt thoughts to himself.

Behind him, Agni clears his throat.

Soma goes on, oblivious. "What's going on? Girl problems?" Aha. He wants to advise me…putting himself in a role of influence over me.

I raise an eyebrow, and offer a half smile. He probably can't imagine any bigger problems than that. I smile wide and offer as innocent, carefree of a face as I can manage. "Something like that."

I do need a hold over the demon I contracted. Information about his weaknesses.

Soma leans in again. "The secret to success is _charisma._ " He smiles triumphantly, settling back into his chair slowly. "Charm the girl. Be generous and nice. No more emo gloom." He nods with satisfaction.

"I don't think they'd be impressed with friendly charity." I offer slowly.

Leaning to the side now, he shakes his head. He's very expressive. "Ah, but everyone likes a charmer. You can sweet-talk even an uptight _guy_ if you know what he likes. People like to be given things." He waves one hand in a small gesture of dismissal.

"People are greedy, you mean." This, I know.

"No, no." His expression is more subtle now, a tiny frown crinkling his mouth. "People like being appreciated. A little give, a little take."

I stare at Soma some more, unsure if it's his perceptive genius kicking in, or serendipity. Something about what he said makes me think it might just be what Sebastian is after…

I shouldn't be the weak, pretty doll he expects. He's seen it before, I'm sure. We should come together as equals, or nearly so. He could have anyone at all weaker than him, but he'll not have all of me yet. That's something to tempt him with.

If I can think of something he might enjoy until he really _will_ know me as only a demon can. After that last taste…

"Would you like a piece of Miroir aus Cassis?* Sebastian made it just this morning…" I stand up to retrieve the cake from the counter. As with all things Sebastian does, it's perfect. Chilled and perfectly formed- reflecting the light softly, striped with two distinct, beautiful colors, and topped with tiny berries.

I serve it with a smile.

* * *

I'm near dreaming. Dressed in night things more suited for a boy a century past, and should be in bed. Out the window, the night sky spreads out like dark wine spilt over a mahogany table. Stars glimmer dully behind the mist and clouds, barely visible. The air feels cold and clear that the smell of moisture leaves fills the air.

Autumn.

Three months until December and the leaves are already turning. A noise at the Veranda door. Something about the presence; quiet and watchful. It makes me shiver. "Having second thoughts, young master?" His low voice reverberates, breaking the silence.

I resist the urge to swirl about guiltily. "I have no regrets. I will _find_ them and get revenge." My voice is quiet, almost soft—an echo of a boy's darkest wish. "I didn't call you to live a long and happy life." I remind myself as much as him. But even still to die without achieving anything…if I can extend the contract—even by underhanded methods, I would do it in an instant. I didn't make my name by playing by the rules or sticking to agreements.

I wonder if Sebastian knows that? Or is he herding me towards such actions…

I push the thought aside. "I'm going to bed. Go to sleep, or whatever it is you do in the dark." I push past him, breathing in the familiar musk that hangs around him. Something like old wood, or incense, or maybe some kind of fragrance…

The veranda opens up to the sitting room, and I swear I can smell a bit of sweet smoke—like the faint whiff of an extinguished candle flame, or a distant bonfire. I shuffle through the familiar surroundings and go to bed. I lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, and maybe drift off.

I turn about. Listen.

I'm tangled and uncomfortable. There's something. A rustle of clothes in my closet, maybe, or the faintest sound of feet by my bed. Or maybe it's not a sound, but some heavy presence.

All at once, I feel it. Something presses down on me, sending spots of color through my eyes, and I think for a moment that something has touched my lips. Silky cloth now rough by the force behind it, and the world seems smaller. Narrower.

_"Bad dreams, young master?" Cool gloved hands stroke my cheek, and I can barely make out Sebastian's fine features back-lit by hall light._

I struggle to calm my breathing, to swallow my cries. I shake my head in fierce denial.

"Would you like some warm milk?" His eyes glint.

I shake my head again, and Sebastian nods, turning to leave. So quick to abandon me after all. "Wait, just…" my words feel thick, like the mud at the bottom of a river. "just stay here a while. Until I fall asleep."

"Of course," Sebastian smiles.

A cold chill runs down my back. Is he here right now? I fight the urge to shiver, or to hit the light on my nightstand. I still my own breathing, listening intently.

There's a creak from above. I swallow.

_"Having second thoughts, young master?"_

I reach up and touch my lips. Suck on one finger experimentally, and know that there is nothing else there.

So I have to close my eyes. But the air is dry, hot, and I can't keep the dark out from behind my eyes (that won't stay closed) so I wonder at the shape there in the corner. The lack of air returns. The oppression with it. A near dream…now it's all burning my eyes…eyes that are called windows, not doors, for a reason.

Look. Do not touch.

I reach out for a gauze eye patch. I hit a bed-stand that's too close. It smarts. In the gloom, I think I hear someone laughing.

My lungs shirk at the _too_ difficult task of breathing. I can feel every breath, and I notice the hot, sick sensation of too little _air_ in my lungs. Too hot on my tongue, my throat…I spit out the air without a care for proper breathing times, rushing the _out_ and gagging on the _in._ I frown as I grasp for cooler air to heal my heaving lungs.

The feeling of being watched returns. The undeniable sensation of eyes, of hands of smoke and demon's tongues—

—it doesn't make sense. Dreaming or not.

My eyes flutter shut. Sleep seems as unreachable now as it did when I first awoke. "Sebastian," I whisper. Lick my lips. Touch the gauze to my eye that sees only impressionistic smudges and bright, painful lines.

There's no response.

I look again, and see there's no black menace peering down from the ceiling. No hands grasping at my skin, and nothing on my mouth.

But I'm still drowning in stale air. I cry out again, louder, "Sebastian!"

Finally, the door creaks open. There was no shuffle from the outer room. No bend of floor boards to indicate he was anywhere at all. "Yes, little boy?" No. That's not right. It's my mind filling in for what I think I hear. He said what he always says—young master.

I can't stand to speak. To waste my air on something so menial. But I have to say something, or he'll stare, smiling at me in the dark. "Turn on the light." My voice is quiet. I can't focus the air flow, and the pressure inside is too great to do better.

He does so, and without my having to ask, finds the rescue inhaler in the damnable nightstand. His face is devoid of emotion, and he does not speak.

With one hand pressed to the gauze over my eye, and the other shaking the canister, I shake my head. I don't know what to say.

His smile is too gentle. I'd think it another nightmare, if not for the cool mouthpiece against my lips. He takes it back before I can squeeze it again, and shakes it more effectively.

When I'm done with the medicine, his lips quirk, and a gentle, self-satisfied _hm_ escapes his impartial façade. "Worked up a scare, didn't you?"

I don't answer aloud. I glower. Words wouldn't suffice anyway, even if I could breathe. I take several deep, calming breathes. I realize my heart is faster, all right, and the saline mist or whatever it is seems to be working.

"Shall I turn down the lights?"

I shake my head and fuss with the pillows. After a few minutes of breathing, I manage a bleak, "where were you."

His bow is a century out of fashion, and he inclines his head. "Here, my lord." At my deepened, scowl, he elaborates. "In the flat."

A demon to the very last. He doesn't appease any of my suspicions or deny them. But I can't but trust him. Who else is there?

"Sleep, child." He murmurs. Like the words of a lullaby. I close my eyes. He continues. "Shall I stay with you?"

I shake my head, and think about what it is I've learned. Secret names in the knowing. Hidden worlds of magic and different paths to power…and my aunt walks one of them.

"Leave." I demand, and rustle about for my phone.

He does not sigh, but a smile tugs again at his lips. "As you wish, my lord."

"Quit calling me that." I mutter, but he's already gone.

Knowing what's real and what's not, I feel the sense of dread and anxiety fade at last. I have all the pieces to the puzzle now. A plan of action begins to form…

Someone will tell me about the magical society. I will learn how to discover a name. Then…we'll see about this _sharing of power_. And we'll see if the devil bends to a sweet word.

If I can learn what he likes, _how_ he likes things, it will lead to knowledge of him, won't it? And then of his name. I smile, and wonder at what we'll do with each other's hearts in hand.

I pull out my phone, and ready myself to get the information I need.


	8. Into his arms?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase II: romantic overtures  
> Ciel begins to be more direct about finding Sebastian's secrets.

(Sebastian)

"Sebastian," Ciel purses his lips and sets the pastry down. He licks his little finger free of cream and fixes me with the most intriguing of expressions. Calculating as ever, but tempered with a desperate sort of curiosity.

Perhaps he's begun to count the days. It's October already.

"What do you think people think of us?" He lets out his breath in an annoyed stream. "Not like _that_. I mean, I've always called you my assistant, but maybe that was a little too…" he pauses and casts his eyes down, displaying his eyelashes.

Sad. Shy. Two words I would rarely ascribe to ruthless Ciel Phantomhive. I consider him again. Ah, but perhaps more cunning than shy. This is part of his little scheme.

"Next time, sit down with me and at least pretend to have tea." He brushes at a few minuscule crumbs. " We're done here for today, Sebastian. I'm going out. Try and act natural."

"Of course, certain people know what kinds of groups I work with, and _they_ know that you obey me." He raises an eyebrow, inviting me to disagree. When I don't, he continues. "But in public, at least, maybe you should try and act more casual around me." He leans forward, putting an elbow on the table and tilting his head. He flashes a crooked smile. "I hardly look like the class of person who has personal assistants or a body guard anymore…"

I smile indulgingly. "That is the image you cultivate. You could have chosen to build a wealthy enterprise, or build your own underworld…" Old habits make me speak slowly, and with just the right amount of inflection to suggest a good natured offer…rather than temptation from a demon's mouth.

Ciel waves his hand dismissively. "I have enough to buy connections and relevant bribes. Anything else would unnecessarily complicate things." He eats the pastry in a succession of dainty bites and sips of tea. 

He's at it again.

The dear soft smiles, that near self-satisfied tap of his fingers…planning something, and it involves _me._ "Come walk with me…the leaves are turning colors, and I hear that Hyde Park is looking exceptional."

A walk. How…quaint. I look at him more closely. A soft, glistening sheen on his palms, and I notice he has taken on a pallor most concerning of late. It seems to suggest serious preoccupation…but with what?

As I arrange for our transportation, I think about the past few months. He has sent me all over England and the rest of the kingdoms, searching out even the barest connection to _that day._ But with the end of summer, he tires of this fruitless procedure, and now he looks at me with one wide, beguiling eye.

The _other_ stares, transfixed, at my essence. Though I doubt he realizes it. To the human mind, his eye-that delicate and intricately bewitched vessel- may seem a sensitive, sometimes painful mess. Such small and fickle things that do not realize true natures.

"We're here…" he announces quietly. He takes us into the foliage, and says after a time, "Stay at hand…I mean. Stay with me."

"Of course." Belatedly, I remember his request to appear more familiar. "Ciel."

As we walk, the wind tickles my nose and ruffles my hair. Finally, the trees of the lane make themselves known to me, and that greenish, potted smell comes over my senses.

Ciel, as I might have expected, sneezes. Not just once, in a dignified, self-important kind of way, but three times. At odd succession. His allergies, one might presume, may yet get the better of him.

He stops, and for the briefest of minutes, leans against me…but only for a moment. He gets up and walks down the path, walking purposefully toward another quiet corner of the park.

The setting sun has stained the horizon a bloody wine of a color, and purple wafts at the edge of the visage. In minutes, we will be left in that murky half-darkness.

"Pleasant evening." He murmurs, his words gone awkward. His natural arrogance and confidence seems to have abandoned him. Even so, he sticks his chin out a little. "Do you like the plants?" He gazes into the carefully trimmed and kept foliage. He seems to be looking through it rather than at it. "You used to complain about technology…especially computers and the net…"

He smiles at me so convincingly. Like he were sharing memories with an old friend, rather than his executioner. I return the smile. I do like to see where this little noose will bring him.

Emboldened, he continues. "Do you like it here?" he waves his hand, the picture of a lord indicating his birthright. His property. "London. Earth. The present." He continues distractedly, as though he has lost that confidence again.

To keep him from talking too much, I tilt my head. Then I lower my eyelids and shrug. "It _is._ " My eyes flick to the sky, where only the brightest stars are visible. "I am."

Ciel doesn't scowl or scoff like I expected, but rather looks at me with that _sweet_ smile. He continues his questioning. "What do you like about cats?"

I stare, wondering what this is about. What it has to do with his plans.

"Does the young master mean to purchase a cat?" I keep my tone light, my expression friendly. "I know of a few delightful—"

"None of that 'young master,' remember? And I was asking about _you._ Your reasons."

"Cats are delightful…beautiful. Wise, and secretive about their ways… They are…fierce. Cunning, and lovely." I pause. "…and masterless hunters…" I move to stand next to the teen, lean in to whisper in his ear. "You know this, don't you?" I wait long enough to hear him swallow. "Ciel." I straighten, brushing my fingers across his neck.

Ciel shivers and swallows. He turns away, so I suppose he must have realized his mistake. Instead of correcting it, he plows on. "And food." He licks his lips with the very tip of his tongue, parting them just enough to show me it. "What kinds of foods do you like to make?"

I frown. What is he after? I look at him, still so vibrant and _hopeful_ in these last months. So _sure_ that he can find something about me that will give him true power over the contract. Over me.

…a covenant…

Realization leaves me almost breathless.

"Do you like pastries? Or maybe—"

I laugh unkindly. "I enjoy cultivating souls." I step forward again, bringing our bodies close. I peel off a glove and touch the outline of his eye patch, tugging his hair with the other hand. "Sweet, bruised souls. Broken. Powerless…and angry…." I push into his soft skin. "…and I mold them into shrewd, desperate souls with no hope." I take a slow breath, as though tasting the air about him.

Ciel is still in my arms, and then flushed, angry. He pulls himself free—I let him. And he scowls at me. "Tell me your _name._ "

I laugh again. "Sebastian Michaelis."

It is what he made me.

Ciel shakes his head and rips at this eye patch, showing the fragile orb beneath. "Your secret name. The one with power—"

"No."

Ciel sighs, exasperated. "You are to tell no lies." He reminds me. "You are to obey all orders." He looks at me, very much the wounded bird.

I lick my lips. "I have bound myself to do these things," I agree. "But just look." I turn my face upward. "The sky is dark…and the darkness is deep."

He does not understand.

And yet he is stubborn. Later, he will ask me again. And I shall refuse…an outright answer is beyond the contract he formed.

"Then tell me about your past masters. Or your beginning." This desperate hunt for knowledge makes him reckless. He's tipped his hand, and there are weeks left to us.

Oh, the damage he could do…

…to himself…

"They're all dead." I drop my gaze to meet his. "And none knew any such name." I chuckle low in my throat, and ask him gently, "could a human even pronounce it?"

"You mock me." Ciel looks to me, his pale face brighter than the reflected moon in the water. He doesn't cringe, doesn't beg. Just stares at me balefully.

Excitement tingles through me, rushing through my limbs. One last effort of a thrashing soul…

Ah, how bitter truth must taste in his mouth.

I wonder, have I crushed it all out of him? That hope.

"I'm leaving." He snaps. "Get me home. Now."

"Ah, but I thought I was to be more familiar out in public," I taunt. I touch his face, smooth his hair.

Ciel flushes, and his hands shake. He grasps at the weapon hidden in his clothes, but doesn't draw it. "You will take me."

Ah, this child. This youth who would be a man in a few years time…does he know of what he speaks?

Perhaps it's too early to tell if he's abandoned that last path. But he has at least plenty of anger left.

"Yes, my lord." I bring him up into my arms, and he allows it. I bound up. The path and city skyline blur beneath us, and at last, he says nothing more.

Darkness swallows both of our forms.


	9. party crasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel and Sebastian go to a party.

"Would you like some time off?" The words slip so innocently from those lips that I almost forget it must be a ploy.

I hold my breath, but that doesn't help. I snicker, and then outright guffah at the outrageous suggestion. I double over, my abdomen bouncing with laughter. At last, it subsides, and I straighten. "It's not necessary." I manage, and disguise one last giggle as a cough.

This is almost as much a hobby as it is a duty, after all. Tormenting souls is a wonderful past-time.

Ciel glowers. "Too bad." He snaps. "You're going to anyway." He brushes off an imaginary spot of dust from a sleeve, and he closes his eyes almost serenely.

The boy is a delight. His fiery temper and equally hot words regale me into a pleasured sort of satisfaction. Ciel. He thinks to get rid of me again…it's an interesting reversion to earlier habits.

"I'm going to a party." He sniffs.

"Very good, young lord." I reply, and his annoyed look sharpens to disdain. His lip curls. My. "Certainly." I change my posture to one of submission.

"Alone."

I straighten and fix him with a serious stare. "I must insist upon chaperoning you."

Ciel's haughty expression falters. I can read something like relief mixed with a healthy dose of annoyance. His lips purse, only to open again in a small, mocking smile. "You can do with your time as you like, I suppose." His voice is soft, daring. I imagine it would taste like wine mixed with fresh whipped cream and cake.

"Any particular wishes?" Forward, but familiar. Perhaps it's what he wishes of me, for he smiles.

"Help me with the costume." He motions impatiently, and a busy day ensues.

The game is to follow close enough to Ciel that I might keep an eye on him, and, I might add, to see exactly what it is he's after with these magic users. We spent a great deal of time and energy crafting his dress—complete with a padded bra and curve-creating material around his waist and hips.

Perhaps predicting my intent, though, Ciel has given me several small orders to keep me out of his way. Watching the crowd of partygoers for acquaintances was one of these, and keeping tabs to make certain none of the offending parties would get close enough to recognize his face.

One would _think_ this to be a simple thing. That a child who runs errands for middle managers in no particular organization and deals with important persons mostly digitally would be unknown to nearly anyone here. After all, he ordinarily works through others. Primarily, me.

"Ronald!" Sutcliff calls loudly to a fair-haired man (presumably Ronald) near him.

I observe the unusual pair, each with a pair of glasses. These two have matched eyes, too…catlike in color. Something shifts in my perception. A suspicion of subterfuge, a reminder of too little…challenge of late.

Sutcliff is still talking loudly, though it seems no one in particular is listening. The way that Ronald rarely focuses on any one party-goer, but rather casts his gaze over them is startlingly familiar.

Confident in my abilities, though, I can't see what they might hope to learn by _guile._

Sutcliff's chatter finally comes to a high note. "Oh, would you _look_ at that dress!"

Ronald cranes his neck. "That's an interesting color." He observes, and his carefree smile borders on a smirk.

Of course, it's not only pride that makes me think they're speaking of my young 'lady.' He is an artisan, after all, and well accustomed to manipulating fabric of quality into works of art. Granted, of his clothes and dolls are somewhat gothic.

Distracting the two of them might prove difficult, especially if it was Ciel's aunt who brought him here under her invitation…if that is the case, his request that I keep her from speaking with him is rather clumsy. Madam Red will certainly notice if her nephew ignores her, unless he failed to rsvp...

I decide to approach the pair. "I didn't realize you wore anything but black." I comment airily.

Sutcliff does not turn to face me so much as he _jumps_ at the chance. "Oh, Sebas-chan! I am _so_ delighted to _see_ you!"

Keeping him at arm's length is no easy feat. I manage it with a glass of wine, tilted outward toward him. If he gets too close, it will leave horrible stains on the outfit. "I see you've snuck into the Lady's wardrobe."

Ronald snorts dryly. "That he has."

"Have you any idea what the time is?" I ask him levelly.

"Too late to be at a party," Ronald comments, and his hand reflexively goes to a slim touch-screen in his breast pocket. Exactly where a handkerchief ought to go.

"Let us dance!" Sutcliff shouts merrily, apparently ignoring my comment.

"I decline."

Ronald only rolls his eyes. "Sir, we should get on with it." Ah, his tone is void of anything but resignation. "Tonight is going to be a busy one, and you know I don't want to take all night…"

"So you do work with that." I lower my gaze, staring momentarily at his lips before looking up at his glasses.

Sutcliff stiffens. "This _lady,_ you mean." He sniffs.

Ignoring him, I continue. "Does Madam Red know of your other employment?" I search Sutkliff's face, trying to identify some clue about their profession.

I allow my eyes to roam up and down Ronald's sharp attire. "It seems you're very…business-like for this kind of dance." I cast my eyes down his form, looking slowly from his hair to his pointy shoes. I meet his gaze, laughing. "Do you feel out of place?" I let the words roll of my tongue, suggesting that he and Sutcliff are indeed out classed.

"No. Not at all." He adjusts his glasses, and the smile playing at his mouth is beautifully cold.

Sutcliff lifts a hand, presenting it to me palm down. "This kind of chance, Sebastian…doesn't come every day." His eyelids are half down, and the way attempts a pout is almost sultry.

The urge to crush his annoying expression gets stronger. I scowl out right. "I find being in your _vicinity_ repulsive. It would be far more satisfying to rip your tongue from your throat."

Unexpectedly, Sutcliff laughs, delighted. "Now, now. Don't you know that you're to a kiss a lady's hand before moving up the bases?"

All this time, Sutcliff has played the part of a human servant. So well that I never questioned him…

I close my eyes, remembering the smell of an ancient library. Another century, another contract…I caught word of something between god and humans. Reapers. Things that ferry human souls to wherever-it-is-they-go after death. A great waste, I remember thinking at the time.

Ronald simply rolls his eyes. The young man—a reaper, most certainly—knows to hold his tongue.

"Ah, but where is the lady?" I mock. "There appears to be a reddish hedgehog in stolen footwear and coat, but…I see no lady here."

"Indeed. I should wonder what brings the two of you, Ronald. Grell. To this place and time."

I turn to see a tall, fair skinned and dark haired man. He too has the glasses and eyes of a Reaper, but his attire is much less mussed, as devoid of character as his monotone voice.

The figure straightens. "You've come into contact with a demon." He notices, his tone barely raising at all.

Sutcliff continues with the sniffling. "Will! Don't pay any attention to _that._ " He says with some relish. "While you're here, we can have a dance…"

This _Will_ snips at the offending harpy with what seems to be a pair of garden sheers mounted on a pole. "Nonsense." He stares at me with a cool, somewhat hostile expression.

Interesting that he can manage both at once. "It's a pleasure to meet you…" I give a luxurious bow.

"If it is not devouring listed souls, leave it." Will declares.

"Quite the businessman," I murmur dryly, stepping aside as the glasses group becomes a bit more agitated.

Will has taken Sutcliff by the collar, and his very sharp shears are pressed into the small of his back. I should wonder if there will be a new hole in Madam Red's attire. Ronald, apparently smarter than the cross-dressing assistant, just nods and continues on after the two.

It is quite convenient, I must say. The two underdogs were taken care of by an irate, single-minded overseer. I should be able to monitor Ciel much more closely.

"If something comes up," Will continues, his suited figure retreating to the closest door—a balcony, I might add. Not the main entrance. The Reaper don't seem to mind how curious their behavior may seem to anyone watching.

"If the demon gets in the way, kill it."

I continue smiling. I doubt that trio could do the job.

"Have a pleasant evening," I bid.

I've seen the backs of them now, and I know a little more than I had before. I have confirmed the existence of reapers—one in the employ of bribe-dolling Madam Red. _I wonder what those bribes are being paid for? Wouldn't Ciel like to know…_ And one more at this quaint party. How rare to see even one of them, but two? Their purpose, as well as Ciel's remains unknown to me.

Speaking of the little devil. He's hanging on the arm of a tall, light-footed man. They spin in elegant circles, much like balls of old.

Despite his frowns and complaints at women's constricting clothing, he seems to be enjoying the attention. Ah, the little status monger. His closed eyes cannot hide the tiny, self-satisfied smile he's donned.


	10. Of magical intrigue and crossdressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian stalks Ciel, trying to discover what he's up to. Ciel stalks other prey.

(Sebastian)

Dresses swirl and hard soled shoes clack a slow counter rhythm to the expertly played chamber music. Human women paw and clutch at their partners, while human men leer at the pretty, youthful guests. Most of the females look hardly out of secondary school, while the men are old enough to be fathers or even grandfathers.

The distinct odor of wine, cider, and beer fill the air, mingling with the scent of autumn decay. A revealing image of humanity, certainly.

Now, _what_ brings my anti-social underworld go-between to such a party? A few steps more and I have a flower of my own to twirl about as cover.

As I close the distance between us, I realize Ciel has abandoned his previous partner for the refreshment table. What's more, he's just in sight of Aleister Chambers, the Viscount of Druitt. So the nobleman is his target.

It was a split second's glance, and now I smile at the young woman in my arms. She flutters her eyelashes most delicately.

"I don't recognize you, pretty. Do you come to these events often?" I ask slowly.

She titters and opens her eyes a little wider, pursing her lips into an attractive pout. "I've been once before." She bats at my sleeve. "But I think I'd recognize _you_ from that night." Her knees bend rather obviously, allowing her to lean into me.

I close one arm around her and pat her with the other. "Careful."

I find my eyes locked on the pathetic display of green fringe. It's a plastic potted hedge, painted green with clever technologies, but it is obviously fake. On the other side of these ornamental bushes, Ciel looks up in an artful display of surprise. He meets Druitt's gaze for but an instant, and then looks back to his punch, feigning a startle.

The viscount is as obvious and overwhelming as I'd imagined after seeing the sparkling metallic angels decorating the hall. It seems he has a flair for dramatics, and Ciel tastes the brunt of it with the first excited exclamation. I wouldn't be surprised if he swooned...

"Ah, but what a charming little robin I've found. Let us dance and talk away all your simple worries," Druitt exclaims, his voice booming loud enough so that even my dance partner hears. She frowns and rests her chin on my shoulder.

Instead of replying, Ciel casts his eyes down. The picture of a demure, sweet lady.

"Do you know the viscount well, miss…?"

"Priscella."She straightens her shoulder and lifts her chin. "Druitt and I are quite close," she claims, her voice both lofty and brittle.

"Oh, did I sweep away the viscount's lady. My, my." I chuckle. But it seems that Druitt has barely noticed the young lady this night…I wonder how close they are, considering that she only mentioned one other meeting.

Ciel touches his lips to a glass of punch. His mouth trembles as he takes a dainty sip, and his disguised eyes and figure seems all the more delicate. Now, he walks on tip-toes, barely competent in his heels. He catches quite a few eyes, and at last, his intended touches his shoulder.

I can see the tiny smile. But his host cannot.

The viscount must instead ask again, as Ciel surely knew he would. "Would you do me the honor of this dance?" His voice is full of charity, personal satisfaction, and kindness. He sounds exactly like the arrogant noble that he is.

Ciel wavers. That's all it takes. Now he is less a member of the underworld than he is the victim of _that time._

His bones would snap at the barest of touches. His chest heaved, trapping his fluttering heart between his throat and his gut. Yet still he

looked _at me, seeing through the darkness and into my core._

Time stands still.

Nonetheless, Ciel gathers his wits, and nods. "It would be my pleasure."

"Excellent." Druitt puts his wine glass down, and Ciel follows suit.

"The ball is very nice." Ciel murmurs. "I heard you have quite a few events, viscount. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh yes, but I am always in need of beautiful dancers! So few ladies these days know how to dance properly…"Ciel nods ever so slightly. They dance in silence, and move out of even my range of hearing.

I look at my lovely human shield, brushing my lips against her soft, flower-fragrant hair. Warm, inviting, and completely accustomed to relying on others….she's the perfect excuse. My eyes are on the other pair. By the time they circle back, Ciel looks decidedly more guileful.

"— private get-togethers. I never did learn the names of the female guests, or hear exactly what you get up to. It's enough to make a girl curious," Ciel fingers the fabric of Druitt's suit, and casts his eyes down again. "Are you having another one soon?"

Ah. So that's what he's after. Quite a few women have disappeared… Could it be the viscount is Ciel's suspect for the missing persons cases? Or does he simply think the private gatherings are connected to some other suspect?

Finally, Priscilla notices me watching the other pair, and looks over her shoulder. She frowns, less prettily this time. "They certainly are dancing a while," she huffs.

"No longer than we have, Priscilla." I gently turn her chin back to me. "Don't let some fresh face bother you. You know the viscount much better." I gently run a finger against her bare skin, exciting gooseflesh from the single touch. "Did you go to his last private party?"

"I did, actually." Instead of being properly impressed, the girl flashes me such a look of suspicion that I wonder if I said too much. "And I won't tell you anything about it," she sulks.

I can't help but smile at this. "Oh, so there's something to hide, little lady? Surely any number of people would tell me about it if it were simply exclusive. Secretive, I'm afraid, is rather suspicious."

Priscilla stamps on my foot. "You wouldn't need to ask if you were somebody." She sniffs. "And it's nothing like that. Viscount Druitt is an exemplary citizen."

Beyond the plastic shrubbery, Ciel takes a small risk. Presumably he's having a hard time ferreting out information. He makes some quiet remark that the viscount laughs at. Ciel presses on, turning faintly pink.

"You seem gifted in that way. Have you ever seen a ghost?" Ciel widens his eyes, emitting ignorance in waves.

"My, my, but aren't you a sweet faced witch."

The viscount's laughter catches Priscilla's ear again. She begins to stiffen, to lean away, but I stop her with a firm hand on her waist. I bend down, speaking against her elegantly done up hair.

"Stay. He's found a little toy to play with for a dance or two. But that little girl hasn't been trusted with his secrets, now has she? But you have." I lift her chin, looking into her eyes.

"I…" she begins, but her gaze is quick to return to Druitt.

I shake my head and smile. "How long before she is taken in his confidence?" I run a gloved hand down the soft skin of her neck. "Or even in his bed? I imagine he led on a half dozen pretty girls before you. And yet still you want to protect his secrets." I chuckle. "Such simple, jealous loyalty."

"What do you know!" The girl pulls away from me, her face twisted into pain and embarrassment. She looks at the other dancers, as though suddenly aware of how loud her voice was. "Leave me alone."

"Hush, now, Priscilla. If there's one thing I know," my voice is low and melodic, quiet enough so that only she can hear. "it's how to help you forget you pain and rejection…if only for a little while."

Priscilla looks at the other dancers, uncertain of how to respond in a way that will not mark her as rude and disruptive.

"Poor, poor little girl." I don't give her room or time to think. She stiffens, confused by the sudden sympathy. "Already forgotten. You're better off moving on. Won't you dance with me a bit longer? You can have the last word and indulge in pleasure. Just for one night." The words fall off my tongue as sweet as honey.

The girl quivers, her eyes wide and moist, her lips slightly parted. She is still in my arms, but receptive and completely enthralled in my promises and temptation.

"The truth is bitter, isn't it. Enjoy the night. Let me take care," I whisper in her ear. "of you."

Priscilla swallows Her eyes are markedly wider than they ought be, and her heart thumps enthrallingly. Beautiful. "Mystery…he's always going on about séances and mystery..." I can almost taste the fear on her…the excitement.

Such soft, damning words. Ah, yes. I have her now…a little longer, a little time in private, and I'll know everything that she does.

"He says young people like me can help…he needs special girls to help him."

Ah, so he is involved with the missing girls. And here's another, just begging to be taken back in his confidence. She'll be missing too, not long from now.

Behind us, the Viscount and Ciel move away from the other dancers, towards a private room. Priscilla catches some sight of them, and turns to watch them go.

Her jaw quivers, and her eyes are moist. She pulls away from me, her gaze locked on the door. Heedless to the men and women watching her (they would fall upon her if she falters now, like wolves on a lamb.), she flees the room, her face a mask of all the anger and grief of a woman scorned.

What to do now? I suppose I'll have to wait for Ciel…

I walk out to do just that.

* * *

* * *

(Ciel)

Ordinarily, I don't have to prance around in girl's clothing to get good information on someone. Sure, sometimes I do dress to fit the area so I can listen in from an inconspicuous corner, especially if it leads to a good inside perspective (or if it sounds fun to witness), but this is a little more extreme than a messenger boy's garb or a dealer's airs. What’s more, I've already completed the deal I was hired for, so this isn’t strictly necessary.

When Donnerson called about Druitt, I expected Donnerson'd been snubbed. That the-great-blond git-Druitt had said the wrong thing or that he'd sent the wrong flowers. But initial investigation turned up a few tantalizing tidbits. Could it be that this child-snatching ponce is the link I've been looking for?

Druitt's hands have found the small of my back, and the last of my nerves send my body trembling out of his grasp.

"Poor little Robin…please, allow me to soothe your ruffled crown." So saying, the bejeweled prince smiles and gestures to the side. "Let us retreat."

Hiding my natural response is a thing of delicacy. _Too stiff is just as bad as insolence when you're playing this kind of game,_ I chide myself. So we move into the private room, and I try and act like I don't desperately prefer the gardens. The season is wrong for it, so that request would fall through.

"There." He pushes the door closed, and without the one hand leaving my body, turns the lights down. I think of all the possibilities a darkened room might signify. But nothing will come of it….

…right?

My emotions can't get the better of me now. Not when this idiot might get the best of me if I don't get my shit together. Otherwise, what would I have for today?

The viscount's smile is sweet, almost. It's as though he's tasted candy floss for the first time since childhood. His hand glides through my hair—really a finely styled wig—and his eyes light up. "Séances and other mysteries, you know, are very specific things. Decided by star alignment and seasonal days…so I can't always tell you when the next one would be." He says smugly, and I immediately doubt him.

"Oh…" I let my shoulders slump and my head fall forward, effectively hiding my expression and brushing against the nape of his neck.

"But I can tell you a thing or two about the rituals. Or if you prefer…about magical ordeals. The best way to get your agenda done and all." His eyes shine with the thought of the mystery, and he looks to me completely caught up in the spun spider's web of his own greatness.

He thinks he knows about _magic._

But I bite the thought back. I need to learn anything I can—even if it's from my enemy's mouth.

Viscount Druitt smiles at me. "What will it be, darling robin?" He's moved out of the foyer and across the room, settling in front of a loveseat and a window showing off his (admittedly impressive) property. The sickle moon shines, and the lights in the garden are all twinkling. The lack of clarity makes it all rather mysterious.

"Well…" I hesitate. I hate myself for the hesitation, but the choice is too much for me. I don't know which to ask about. The ritual which might be all-too familiar. Cages and blood, starvation and innocent children.

Or some information that might well be a lead to controlling Sebastian.

Druitt only laughs. "I see you have an appetite for knowledge…" he smiles. "Let's start with the basics, shall we?"

I nod slowly. "Yes. I suppose so…"

"The ceremony is about gathering enough energy, little Robin, to get your goals accomplished. The things they say in the stories, the wand waving, and the collection of materials, it's only half true.…what ritual you choose is only the beginning." His fingers form a steeple, and he looks over to me, gently inclining his chin. "Come here, doll."

I walk towards the window, stepping carefully in my hated heels. It took forever to learn to walk in them. I avoid his gaze, and only sit when he pulls at my hand.

Now that I'm closer, he fingers the side of my cheek, petting me as though I was a cat in his lap. "So, you have a ritual. If you want to do the simplest, least effective thing, you can call on spirits to talk to…with the right instruments, it's not so hard." He leans in, inhaling softly. Just enough to get the fragrance Sebastian oiled into the wig. _For a realistic, feminine touch._ he said.

"We summon power from precious objects. Our guests bring their preferred minerals, wands, or crystals, arrange them in a circle, and pull the energy from those objects into a single vessel." He smiles at me widely. "It is just beautiful…watching that precious energy move from their hands to…well, to anything. You can even do it with a person at the end channeling point…to give them powers beyond believing." He pulls me against him.

I tumble into him for a moment, but quickly right myself. It wouldn't do for him to notice the padding in my bodice, or the state of my legs. I can feel my cheeks burning.

"Would you like to have such powers, robin?" he asks demurely.

 _It's a trap._ my mind screams at me. _He's not helping anyone gain energy, he's only using them. The women who go missing…they're probably dead._

But I only smile back at him. "Tell me about the other one. The magical ordeals."

He stirs, resting his weight on the other hand. "Well. Ceremonies are good for gathering power. But magical ordeals are for personal gain…you need only yourself, your wits, and, well, a challenge."

"What kind of challenge? To what effect?" I ask, perhaps a bit too quickly.

He laughs. "Don't like parties, darling? Why not?"

I shake my head, and the styled curls swing. "I didn't say that."

"Well." He looks at me, and I turn away from him to see the moon shining through the glass.

I lower my chin. "I wanted only to say," look nowhere in particular to perfect the lie. "that the ceremonies sound terribly…structured. What of the ordeals? How much preparation do we need?"

With a finger drumming lazily on the armchair, he shrugs. "It depends. The most basic ordeals are to heighten your concentration. To practice drawing out the magic from within…" his hands roam across my arm, "walking" up my flesh like he's some god-awful toddler. "Other ordeals are to be able to draw them out and use them whenever you want, without further preparation."

I squirm a little bit, and I know my face betrays my discomfort. I'm probably pouting. I wrinkle my nose and look away again. Then back, hoping he'll take me seriously. "What about…knowledge? Getting knowledge of another…person? Or time?" I ask quickly.

He laughs quietly again. _Is he always laughing?_

With a small sigh and a quiet shush, he leans in to breathe the words in my ear: "Wait."

He picks himself up, pulls a long crystalline stick from nowhere, and taps a small bookshelf. He speaks quietly, and I can't make out what he says. When he returns, a slim volume—magazine? No, too small—in one hand. "Read this later." He recommends, and presses it into my lap.

I tuck it into my handbag. "Thank you for your kindness, Viscount."

He smiles lazily, very much the picture of a wealthy fop. "Not at all, my dear Robin." Then he leans in, pulling my hand to bring me to my feet. The damn shoes make me stumble, and he catches me quite easily.

With me leaning on him, pressed to his hip like a prized whore, he leads me back to the door. The little room dims when he catches the handle.

We walk out of the room, and as if in afterthought, he leans in, catches my chin again.

Leans in for a chaste kiss that holds way too many promises for me to enjoy.

Then, the gun goes off.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: if you’re enjoying the story, lemme know! 
> 
> Please do lemme know what you think! Critique is ok too!


	11. Let all parties come crashing down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is not quite all that it seems. Ciel stumbles when things get confusing.
> 
> Unexpected magical "allies" are found.

**Chapter 11:** uninvited party guests

(Ciel)

Just before Druitt leans in to brush my hair from my ear, shots are fired. I jerk backwards and to the side without thinking and just barely stop myself from blowing my cover by returning fire.

But I needn't have worried. The shooter, either another cross-dresser or a real girl, has terrible aim.

"Ah, Priscilla," he sighs. "Not now. You'll ruin my party!" He barely raises his voice, like he's merely commenting on bad music rather than a shooting. "The party must go on!" He announces, and this time, his voice rings through the room. Arms out-stretched, he's too easy of a target.

But I don't have time to worry about that.

"You slut!" The woman screams. High-heels and tight skirt or no, she launches herself at me.

The hall erupts into sudden noise, as party-goers pull out guns and trade punches. Who would have thought so many weapons were hidden at this so-called 'classy' ball?

Beside me, a man activates some sort of charm on his jewelry, calling something—a spirit? — to his side. To my right, a woman in a blue dress seems to glow, holding out a bare arm to stop her opponent in their tracks. She moves out of my blind-spot, and it's like she's just a normal woman, just holding her hand out.

I skid, and nearly twist my ankle in my shoes. But Sebastian is at my side in moments, hitting this Priscilla woman on the back of her neck. She falls to the ground. I wonder briefly if she's dead, or been knocked out.

I turn my eyes back to the woman in the blue dress. Sure enough, though her image is fuzzy, she only seems to glow when I look at her through my right eye. Seems that contacts have their benefits after all—I can see through the lens, and maybe see magic.

I glance at Sebastian, trying to remember what he looks like with both eyes. But of course, Sebastian is as composed as ever. He draws my eye, sure, but he doesn't glow, or even have sparks or flickers. Is that a sign of talent or low power?

This isn't what I wanted to happen. We were supposed to get into the special "work groups" where the séances or the trails take place. Now how's that going to happen, with chaos breaking out on the stairs?

Sebastian covers his mouth with one hand. "Might I suggest, my lady, that we leave?"

I shake my head to clear the fuzziness. "What are you talking about? No." I look sharply at the woman who's walking away from the two of us, seemingly unconcerned. "I need to get back to the Viscount—he was going to tell me—"

With a quirk of his lips, Sebastian asks smoothly, "After kissing you?"

Fighting a blush, I don't deign comment on that. "He was going to give me more information."

"Information that you're not under commission to get." Sebastian observes. A bit of coolness has crept into his voice. "What is your desire, Ciel?" he murmurs. "Girls have been disappearing. He seems to be aware of the occult. Is he your latest suspect in a six year old crime, my lord?"

If it were any other time, heat would surely raise a blush. But I'm too distracted to pay his cheek any mind. A plan is already forming in my mind. "Sebastian. Cover me. I need to go upstairs."

Sebastian looks on, impassive.

"I need to go upstairs. Find out what Druitt is hiding…what he's doing upstairs." I fight the urge to purse my lips lest I smudge the lipstick. If I'm caught here…what will he do?

"He's not upstairs, young master." Sebastian points out. "He's over there."

Then I notice that all of those faintly glowing individuals are all heading towards the stage. The stage that Druitt stands on, holding out some chalice inscribed with ruins. He's half singing nonsensical words—some of the people look to be entranced. Others, angry.

"Aleister," someone calls. "This is not the time. Not _here._ We haven't selected our oracle!"

Scowling, I shake my head. "Whatever he's doing here, he won't listen to _me_ now." I look at the young woman on the floor, knocked out by Sebastian well aimed blow. "He'd liken me with her, and that's not at all favorable…" I murmur.

Looking up again, I see that Druitt is not just standing, calling attention. He has a glow about him to rival any of the other people, but it's concentrated. Not a hazy half-sphere, but concentrated. Very near his heart and the hand grasping that…chalice.

He smiles gently, like a fop pretending to be an angel. "It matters not. We have oracles aplenty amongst us," he gestures, "don't you see?"

The protestor stopped mid-step before he brings a hand to his temple. He shakes his head, mutters something too soft for me to hear, and stares.

Closest to Druitt, the light grows stronger, and the oldest of them, an elderly gentleman, falls to the ground. A strawberry blond teenager bends down to sit next to him. I don't even have time to blink, but then he's moving something bulky forward—a lawnmower? Oh god.—and more people are falling around the area as magical defenses clash.

Druitt lifts the chalice, as if to toast some indeterminate party.

I turn to Sebastian. "Unless you can analyze and tell me exactly how to stop what he's doing, we need to get upstairs." I'll not allow argument, and Sebastian knows it. He merely nods. "Cover me."

I dash about one of the false hedges, hoping that whatever it is Druitt is doing, he'll be too engrossed to remember me.

The stairs are a flash of white and golden decorations, and my ankle twists beneath me when—

—there's a noise like a cannon in my ear, and sudden, searing pain in my arm. Not meaning to, I cry out, stumble, and fall to the stairs. Sebastian's apparently apprehended the shooter, though, because there's not another round.

I bite my lip to keep from sobbing, shake my head to clear it, and inspect the damage. There's a lot of blood. My arm is a mass of fiery pain on top of it, and the dress is covered in red. A wave of nausea goes over me as I try to comprehend the damage done to my body.

"There's no penetration." Sebastian comments.

Through the pain and blood covering my arm, I realize he might be right. I seem to have been shot by an inexpert marksman, or my fall ruined their line of sight. Theses thoughts speed through my fuzzy mind in an instant, and I mutter, "You're so crude…" to Sebastian.

He smiles. "I'm afraid I must insist we retreat, tantalizing library or no."

"If he's not killed by the ritual, you can cozy on up to him again later," Sebastian assures me. Then he clucks his tongue. "My, but you bleed like a stuck pig…"

A familiar voice in an unfamiliar timbre reaches my ears. "And red is _so_ not your color…" but I cannot place it. I'm too tired. Too much sensory input… too much to think about.

My vision reels again, and the whole scene goes black.

* * *

My first sensation is the harsh, biting smell of ammonia. "Welcome to the realm of the living, sunshine…" someone croons.

It takes a few moments for me to realize where I am. In a closed vehicle, I think, surrounded by crates of gauze, alcohol pads, (interestingly), baby wipes, and presumably other medical equipment in less noticeable packaging. I'm lying on a portable cot, still in my dress, and in a hell of a lot of pain. "…Undertaker…" I mumble.

"Yes?" He chuckles. "Are you ready to come in to the rabbit hole?"

I sit up. "What happened?"

"Too much stress, and a little hard play, I think." He replies lazily.

I snort. "I was bleeding."

"Not much…" Undertaker drawls. "A few butterfly stitches, and you're all set."

Remembering Sebastian's proclamation about _all that blood_ is sharp in my memory. I glare at him.

Sebastian hides a smile. "I also have a week's dose of antibiotics and pain pills for you. We'll need to make sure it doesn't get infected, but it should be healed relatively quickly. Provided you get enough sleep, nutrition, and don't do anything reckless…"

Undertaker picks up from there. "Yes. I can make a house visit for you, Phantomhive…" he smirks. "How about the day after tomorrow…?"

I don't answer. Instead, I fumble around for my bag—sending pain searing up and down my arm. "This is just a _graze_?" I ask incredulously. "What the hell does a bullet through and through feel like?"

Sebastian's coughs. "I don't recommend the experience."

While Undertaker purrs, "We can set up an experiment, if you like…"

There. The bag is under Sebastian's care. He's watching me, looking at it, and his eyes practically dance.

"How did the ritual go with the viscount?" I demand. "What was he doing with that cup?"

"Oh…there were quite a few casualties, I think…mostly those who might have spoken out against the dear Viscount, but I think the situation has been clamped down on. Standard police procedure is probably being…carried out."

I shrug. "The viscount. He's been charged?"

"Too early to tell…" Undertaker muses. "Knowing that man, he'll find his way out of any old pinch…it's a shame for it to be any other way…he really is amusing." He tilts his head. "Is he a good dance partner?"

I flush, and remember my ridiculous costume. "Have you taken us home, or do I need Sebastian to?" I demand instead.

"I didn't think it wise to wait by your residence. No, we're very near the park. A hop skip and a jump home, isn't it?"

His eyes…they seem suddenly important. I've seen other eyes just like that…it's an unusual color. I've always thought so, but now, the information comes flooding back.

"There was a man with eyes like yours." I say slowly, gambling on an outright confrontation. "With a lawnmower."

Unexpectedly, Undertaker guffaws. He isn't finished for nearly a minute. "Oh? A lawnmower?" He giggles. "How…inelegant…"

Now that I've mentioned it, Sebastian is watching him just as closely. Like a dog with the scent on him, his burgundy gaze is trained on the Undertaker, and the strange scar on his face. "A Reaper."

"Sorry?"

"Ask him about it when he comes over…" Sebastian suggests. "He might make you do something funny, but…"

"Sebastian's already fulfilled that need for today." Undertaker laughs softly. "It's too bad you missed it, Ciel. It really was a good one."

I look at Sebastian, and then back to Undertaker.

"Whatever. Take me home."


	12. The Undertaker's Suggestions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel visits the Undertaker, who has a few words to say on the subject of _magic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: coming up with ways for Ciel to ditch Sebastian (and hang out with the Undertaker. Heart!) was getting tedious. Assume Ciel was devious…maybe there were kittens involved, and a box, and lots of distance between. Or something.
> 
> *Imagines a trail of kittens…*
> 
> Anyways! A belated Happy Halloween! 
> 
> Read any and all Halloween jokes aloud. They'll make more sense that way.

Ciel heard stories of ghosts. Reflections of women drifting through the streets, poltergeists rattling windows or freezing passersby. Undertaker had told him a few of those stories. _Hauntings,_ he'd said, were _interesting stories. Uncollected souls, wandering in the night, confused and cut apart._

" _Violent deaths,_ " Undertaker sighs, as though imparting the name of a loved one, "seem especially prone to leave imprints. A chill hand. Just a feeling of something being there." He sings the words individually as he adds sugar cubes to his tea. "Some of the dead can speak to you. If you wander into the room where Chloe was chained up like a dog…crying, wailing."

I give him a look.

He twirls a hand on the table. "Or if you wreck your car in the same place Aaron froze to death, his bones mangled. What, with unusual weather keeping his car from sight…

"Angry, hurting souls. You'll feel them, sense them...some even see them, or get mixed up in the nightmare itself." Undertaker is still, a study of thought. Then his hands move, long fingers caressing a doll atop his desk. "But you're too dense for that, Phantomhive. I'm not even sure you could feel them…callous as you are. Sebastian, though…"

I can't help but swallow. "I don't care about ghosts. I need information." My hands shake with the anticipation of it, and Undertaker only smiles wider. "Tell me about the names. The use of supernatural-"

Undertaker shakes his head twice. "Ciel. _Little_ Ciel."

The way he says it reminds me of how long he's known me. He is the only contact I inherited from my family name. Those eyes. _Who would have thought they were a hint…? My next biggest clue._

"You know there are rules to these sorts of things. What will _you_ do for me?" He chortles, "what kind of laugh can you promise?"

Leaning against the wall, I stifle a sigh. Ordinarily, Sebastian will handle the Undertaker's crude hunger for off-color jokes. But he's not here—I made sure of that by sending him off to care for displaced cats in the bay area.

"What do you want?" I ask carefully.

"Your father used to have the best costumes for guising, you know. Spent a good amount of time walking amongst ghouls before Guy Fawkes Day." Undertaker hints rather blatantly.

Repressing a sigh, I tighten my hands around the gentleman's cane Undertaker gave me as soon as I walked in. It's a strange artifact with a carved face on top. _'In the spirit of Samhain,'_ he'd said.

"You want me to dress up." I close my eyes. It shouldn't be too bad. I mean, there's no one here to see but him.

"And hand out candy. It is Halloween, you know." Undertaker supplies. "After hearing whatever jokes the trick-or-treaters know, of course. Should feed your repertoire quite nicely, don't you think?"

He hands me a frilly bag, one that looks like it's come from some high end store. It's all rather incongruous with Undertaker's black, gothic outfit. There's even a pink bow tied on the bag-handle.

"A passing wind spirit recommended it…and I admit, it's…" he snickers, and doesn't finish the sentence.

Inside, there's a bunch of lacey, navy fabric. If I were considering it for merchandise, I'd say it was fairly high quality. For me to wear, though, it's too frilly. _Probably scratches like hell._

"…and what assurances can you give me that might actually convince me to do this thing?"

Undertaker's mouth moves, but I can't hear the sounds. I watch his hands for a sign, and he raises a long stick before me—pictographic characters? Chinese, maybe? (1)—shimmer on the board, but I still don't _know_ what he's said.

"There." He supplies smugly. "That should hold your interest." He giggles again. "Come back when the candy's out…" he adds a fluorescent, plastic pumpkin to the mix, balancing the damn heavy thing on the cane.

I don't know how I believed this kooky, kniving old witch to be human.

I change into the clothes.

"Classic." Undertaker remarks, and shoos me out. Out of his place, the weather's turned bitter.

"Happy Halloween." Someone blurts at me. He's eying my costume like it's a sign he's meant to read, and maybe memorizing for a pop quiz. "Nice hat."

My hands fly to the tiny clip-on hat, and I resist the urge to check it. Barely.

"And hair…" the guy adds.

I pull my shoulders back to take a few steps toward him. "Did you have something to say to me?" I demand.

"Uh…no, no." He replies quickly, and tries to move on.

"Yes, you do." I knock the candy against his knees. "Trick-or-treat, right?"

The great sod barks with surprise. "I don't have any—"

He doesn't get it. "Hold out your hands…"

When he does, I drop the sweets onto his unsuspecting, rather large palms. He stares up at me.

"Now tell me a joke before I change my mind." Despite the uncomfortable outfit, a smile quirks my lips.

"Un-unbelievable." The guy stutters. "A little witch—" the way he says it makes me think he's actually considering a cruder name. "With a short skirt and nylon hold-ups-"

"On with it if you please." I tap the cane and watch the pumpkin spin idly.

"Why should I?" he asks. Surly in default.

I tap the cane again. "Fine. You obviously don't have much of a sense of humor anyway."

He calls after me, "Twenty sick sheep went up a hill. One died. How many are left?"

Without bothering to look behind me, I reply. "Nineteen."

"No, not twenty-five—" he stops short. "Oh. You heard right, huh?"

And so my evening of trick-or-treating begins. The day just gets better and better.

* * *

~o.o.o.o.o.o~

Back at the Undertaker's place, I lean on a coffin-shaped counter and listen to his walkie-talkie. He's got it set to monitor the police frequency, but as far as I can tell, he has more ways than that to find an underground…problem.

"Good evening, Ciel…" he sniggers. "Did you hear about the water line breakage? It's probably causing all sorts of problems for the girls downtown…"

"Hm."

He stands up straighter and joins me at the counter. "Hear any good jokes?"

With a bored expression, I present one of the weirder ones I heard. "Why can't Warlocks have children?"

Undertaker's smile is small, anticipatory. "Why?"

With my eyes closed, I sigh once. And then murmur, "Because they have Halloweenies and crystal balls."

Undertake snickers, a crooked smile hinting that he's more amused at my discomfort than the (slightly lame) joke. He swaggers. "Care for a cup of tea? I have yuja cha. Or Earl Grey, whichever suits."

"Can I be finished now? Tell me what you know already."

"I don't want to." Undertaker purrs. "As soon as I tell you, you'll leave."

I sigh, exasperated. "I might just leave anyway!"

"Doubt it. You're desperate. "

"Tell me about Sebastian."

"Does he know that you're here?" As ever, his voice quakes with amusement. "Digging for information like a suspicious girlfriend...he certainly has you worked up now, doesn't he? Not getting along so well, or is it..." he pauses and fixes me with his pale, yellow-green eyes.

I can't help but fidget. "What?" I ask, suspicious.

"It's more like you're newly infatuated. Desperate for any snatches of information?" He guesses.

I scoff. "It's hardly any of your concern."

"Give me a laugh, Phantomhive. I have other patients to deal with, you know…" he drags one finger across the slick surface of the counter-coffin and smirks. How the hell an Undertaker got into the medical business, I'll never know.

"When you say patients, you don't mean any of my clients, do you? Any information for me there?" I ask distractedly. Undertaker is, after a fashion, a good informant most days.

He doesn't take the bait, and no gossip comes forth.

There isn't anything for it. I have to clear my mind. Can't think about pride now. Just say _it._

.

.

.

I said it.

Undertaker laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

* * *

~o.o.o.o.o.o~

"I'll just go wash up the dishes then…" Sutcliff simpers, and clears our dishes away.

My aunt smiles, reaching for her tea as she addresses him. "Thank you, Grell. I know you're busy this time of night, so when you finish, you can take the rest of the day off."

He gives an almost indecipherable whimper that's either suppressed excitement, or a failed attempt at humbly denying her offer.

She doesn't dignify that with a response.

Dinner with Aunt Anne is usually nothing too fancy. Today is no exception, and the tea Grell brewed is only just passable. But it's warm, and the days are getting longer, so…well.

"Tell me what you found out, then?" Aunt Anne's expression is crafted from cunning and strife, and it suits her very well. She looks through her long eyelashes and sips from her cup. "I've endured your father, and then you, long enough to know exactly when you've found something out. Whether it's listening in or exchanging whispered conversations, you've tapped into something…"

"Oh?"

She leans back. "Don't 'oh,' me, darling nephew. Spit it out already."

I do just that, and watch her closely. "There are sentient things in the world that aren't human. I don't mean smart animals, but—"

Aunt Anne's posture stiffens, and one eyebrow raises. She is the picture of poised curiosity…or maybe the vixen who's been sighted by hounds.

"Demons." She offers. The corner of her lips turns up.

 _How did she…? That's not good. Best get away from that guess._ Without being able to say why, I can't trust her with this…situation….

"And…Reapers." I allow. "The near gods over death…"

She leans forward nonchalantly, smooths a cushion next to her. "You have information about this." She sounds breathless, even. "What did you find out?"

I shrug. "Just a bit. There are gods of death who go after a person who's dying. Only certain ones, I think. There's a thing they do to view that person's life…and if necessary, they collect the soul or let the person live. I'm not clear on the details, really. Not at all."

Madam Red fixes me with a pointed look. The pause stretches into a long, awkward silence.

I cough a little and sip at the tea. It's gone cold. "Do you know anything in addition to that?"

"About…demons, ghosts, and Reapers?"

I nod.

"What under the heavens are you looking for, child mine?" she quotes my mother. Those words on her lips…it's strange, but comforting.

"I want to know more about names. I only know so much…"

"Tell me what you do." She coaxes.

"That's it. I just know they exist. And it's a kind of power…that you only get from _knowing._ You can't be told, and you can't read it from a book." I can't help but scoff. "It's supposed to be something like a way of magic…some other path…field…or something."

"I'm afraid I never delved into that…mystic, zen sort of magic." She sniffs. "It sounds like Amitabha, almost. Call my name even ten times…" she trails off. "Quaint, but I don't know anything."

"Tell me about that?"

"The Universal Buddha of Light? There's a whole religious following to him…the Amitabha, or Amida Buddha. (2) A cornerstone of the belief is calling his name in Japanese Pure Land Buddhism. To take the concept out of context, calling his name means you can borrow some of his sacredness. To put it another way, there's power in a name that even a layman can tap into."

I breathe out slowly. _When did I start holding my breath…?_ "But this Amida told the people his name."

She snorts. The unladylike noise startles me. "He's a Budha. Of course he wants to share the sacredness."

"Anything else?"

"You can use magic to trick people, and demons. There's a story about something like that…lots of stories. Even Rumpelstilzchen." She raps her fingers on the table, tea abandoned.

She proceeds to lecture me. "Have you heard about the boy who fooled a giant? The giant said he wasn't strong enough, and the boy goes on to outwit the giant by squeezing water out of rocks—not real rocks, naturally, but some kind of cheese—and anyways, there's all sorts of stories."

I sigh. "Information in the abstract is all fine and well, but—"

Her smile widens. She laughs appreciatively, but doesn't interrupt.

"It's like stories of Odysseus…meant to entertain, not meant to teach anything but personal values. People want to think they can defeat the devil, or tout certain moralistic things or…or…"

"What do you expect, darling? Some secret code hidden in the forty-eight vows of the Amida Budha? Ten commandments, or a holy cross to keep vampires away? Amulets and tokens are only potent if you fill them with your own power." She tosses her hair. "You can't borrow strength without sacrificing something."

"I suppose."

She falls into silence. Then, unexpectedly, she continues. "There was another man…someone who tried to outsmart the devil. Who was he…? That guy who sold his soul for fame…? Doesn't the story end with a gory room?" She reflects on it. (3)

"Aunt." I begin.

"Well, you're better off making your own magical item. Do you want a spell book? Something for protection?" She purrs.

At my lack of interest, she babbles on. "I don't have anything about making a pact with the devil…it seems rather straight forward." Her quip irritates me. She doesn't appear to notice.

"How to get out of it, though…apparently, you need to be an American." The irony in her voice could tarnish silver. (4)

"…yes, I suppose…"

She gets up to go retrieve the book that I didn't ask for.

While she's gone, my phone buzzes. As expected, it's Sebastian—informing me that he's almost here, and ready to take me home.

My aunt returns.

"Here you are, dear." She pushes it into my hands. Great. Another bit of light reading…hopefully, unlike the one from Druitt, this one won't be charmed shut.

A few minutes of bland conversation later, and my phone buzzes again.

She sees me to the door.

"Good night, Aunt."

"Good bye, Ciel." She murmurs. Against the back light, her face is obscured. I wouldn't know her if not for her voice.

I let Sebastian take me home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:  
> * (1) The "Chinese Characters" on the stick is the Undertaker's Sotoba 卒塔婆, a wooden grave marker or grave tablet. See manga chapter 60.  
> *(2)Amitabha, a Buddha.  
> More info: There is a strong religious belief stemming from legends of the Amida Buddha, one of which is that calling Amida's name will lead to enlightenment—even on one's death bed. Apologies for the over simplification, but this isn't a report... If you want more precise reading, google! Or write me.  
> * (3) Selling soul for fame: Faust. Don't know which version I read.  
> * (4) Americans and Contracts: She is, of course, referring to Daniel Webster, a patriotic retelling of Faust.


	13. Secrets Kept and Secrets Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ciel decides to take the romance a step farther, he strikes Sebastian's curiosity, if not his interest.  
> Then, Ciel has an interesting chat with a Reaper...what information does he have for Ciel?

**Chapter 13:** Secrets Kept and Secrets Shared

_in which Ciel peruses Sebastian, and information comes in an unusual form_

I wake up curled in the center of fmy bed, my head a whole foot away from the pillow. The heat's gone out again, and my bedroom is freezing. My phone woke me up in the early hours of the morning. There's an assignment for me...one I could fob off on someone else...but maybe...

I swallow hard and try not to admit to myself that initiating a romance with Sebastian...he's too slick to be cozied up to. But still...

"Sebastian. Come in here." I make a show of rummaging around in my closet. "I can't find my gray sweater...the one I usually wear under my jacket? I want to wear it today."

I inspect him for a moment before continuing. "Oh. I see you're already changed." I spin around, and take a slow step forward. "That'll do nicely." I actually reach forward, and take his tie. It doesn't come away easily-pinned to the shirt like that- but I manage. I tug at the knot, using it as an excuse to pull him down closer to me. To lean in close.

The chill air is dry, and my skin tickles unappreciatively as I realign the fabric. This isn't quite what I imagined when I…but. Never mind.

"Sir?" Sebastian asks softly. His eyes dance.

"Ciel." I correct, and a smile pulls my face even though it all. "How many times must I tell you?"

"Mm." Sebastian replies lazily. He shifts his arms slightly to let the fabric slip off his shoulders. "I have a near perfect recall…"

The ridiculousness makes me laugh. "Just slips your mind, then?"

It's surprising—unsettling, even—how easily I remove the jacket.

"Are you feeling ill? "He's _enjoying_ my humiliation. "Or perhaps we should look into a heater…your mind appears to be addled with cold."

I'm left holding the jacket, and watching Sebastian in his waistcoat. He of course isn't the slightest bothered by the temperature. "Find my sweater before we leave. We have information to add to the Druitt case—a few of our contacts have been inquiring after what really happened."

"I see."

I turn away, slipping into his jacket—still too big for me, despite how much I've grown. "We have a list of the party guests who survived the night. It means we'll be looking in person for some of them…and Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to play the proper part…" I can't help but laugh softly. "Do you think you could try for a trustworthy detective for once?" .

Sebastian doesn't deny anything. He merely looks at me with lack of understanding.

"You always look too damn perfect. Too well made to be human."

He smiles, as if he understands. "I see." A chuckle surprises me, and with a dark and husky tone he usually reserves for foolish girls, he asks, "Are you flattering me?" with one coyly raised eyebrow

"No. I'm critiquing you, idiot."

He only shakes his head.

"I need you to look like you might possibly make a mistake."

"Such as…trusting one of your witnesses?"

"Maybe." I allow. "And then, like you might actually feel something for them. Enough to compromise yourself in order to, say, help a person?"

Sebastian waits a long moment.

"Are you feeling ill?" He asks slowly.

I shake my head. "Whatever. Just try, all right?" I swallow and give my best smile.

* * *

O0o0o0o0o

(Sebastian)

Ciel slides his fingers down the line of my waistcoat, keeping his eyes downcast. His touch is light and fleeting. I imagine he thinks himself to appear coy, romantic even. But the careful measure of his movements and his cocky smile make it all too clear that he's acting.

Amused, I watch his fingers flutter about like pale moths.

Ciel's gaze hardens to something more familiar—it's that irritation and a certain reckless disregard for his safety. He tugs at my tie again.

"Do you know any low class thugs who wear a tie?" He pulls at it as though it were a leash. The thought amuses me, and so I chuckle.

"Let's take it off,"Ciel's voice is low a low, taunting challenge.

Obligingly, I straighten up to remove the article, but Ciel stops me.

"Let me," he says, very quietly and he tugs my neck back down. I let fhim. Tenderly, he brushes his fingertips over my cheek, flicking a piece of my hair away. Detached, I observe his cool expression that barely masks his desperation and embarrassment.

Obligingly, I straighten up to remove the offending article, but Ciel stops me.

I excuse his behavior as the sensual experimentation of a socially aloof teenager. He may be too bored with the more conventional "peer" group, after all. So I stare and smile faintly, neither accepting nor rejecting his advances.

Without the additional stimulus (the coaxing, eager response he hopes for?), he becomes ever more self-conscious. He stops on his own.

"Whoever heard of a predator dressing like a male model?" Ciel purses his lips. I notice that the difference in our heights is not so great as it used to be.

"It is the way of the world, don't you think? To have deceiving appearances." I push the boy away, curious at what he'll do. "I'll leave the tie behind, my lord."

"I told you not to call me that." Irritation, bordering on anger. But still, he persists.

"You never really try to avoid attention, do you? Do you enjoy flaunting about so much?" Ciel twirls a piece of my hair around his finger, and parts his lips.

I can't quite keep myself from chuckling, though the situation doesn't quite seem as funny as I might have thought even weeks ago. "Don't try to play these games with me, my lord. I doubt you know what you're offering."

Ciel flushes with anger—or is it embarrassment? He tries to act unaffected, like his usual (arrogant, helpless) self by brushing off my remark. "Don't be stupid, Sebastian. I'm just saying that you don't act well most of the time." He drawls.

I drop the smile a little. "Is that so?"

"We're going to go now. We're going to close this assignment tonight."

"Of course, my lord. Allow me to make the preparations."

At last, his behavior returns to a familiar path. He nods slightly, and I (at last) am free to start the day.

It is, after all, rather strange to have Ciel play this particular role against _me_.

* * *

O0o0o0o0o

(Sebastian)

Ciel buries himself in work.

True, the job is not really simple. Someone wants a lead on a no-name, no-picture guest at the Viscount's ball. Either Ciel had his ear to the ground about the Viscount, or someone realized either he or I was on the scene. Ah, humans and their ever deceitful ways.

Either way, Ciel was asked to look into the events at the ball—what was the Viscount up to (ignoring the official story, of course), and to find out who a few of the guests were.

All he has to go on are a few innocent descriptions of suspicious people, unsurprisingly confused accounts of the more arcane matters.

While I sweep and dust, Ciel talks on the phone to a few less reluctant witnesses. I iron and fold his laundry, and he sends Finnian, Mei-Rin, and Bard to talk to others in person. Not long after lunch, he finds out about Mortell, a member of Druitt's society.

Ⅰmust put the shoe polish aside. We're nearly at Mortell's tiny business on the third floor—the very idea of being invited to cross examine him in his own company amuses me- when Ciel stops. I fallow his gaze and take a sharp breath.

It's the young reaper. There he strolls, oblivious to Ciel's attention.

Ciel hesitates, and he gives me a sidelong glance. "Sebastian, go talk to the witness. If that," he jerks his chin at Ronald, "gets in the way, stop him."

How interesting. The Reaper supervisor made a similar remark about me just the other day.

I make a tiny bow to show I've heard, and turn away from my small master.

It shouldn't take me long to get information from the petty fool, I console myself. There may be time yet to throttle reapers before the sun goes down.

As expected, Mortell is already in his office, clearly visible from the street. He's even reading a copy of one of the lesser known business papers, with a yellow men's satchel layed out on his desk by the window. Quaint little signal, but entirely unnecessary.

Interestingly enough, Ciel does not move to follow me inside. Instead of keeping just in sight of me and the quarry, he allows himself to be left behind.

Well then. I shall have to make the conversation short. Nothing is more intriguing than an uninterested Ciel. I skip the receptionist on the first floor, choosing to come in through the window of an unoccupied office nearby. A short walk down the hallway, and I let myself in.

"Hello, Mister Mortell…" His chair swivels at the sound of the door. He looks surprised to see me. I claim the seat opposite him, and offer a slight smile. "I am an associate of Binet."

"How…?" He coughs. "How do you do?"

"Quite well, thank you…I see you've indulged in a cup of coffee. Do you mind if I…?"

"Yes, please, do." He waves me off, practically simmering in his seat as he nervously collects his thoughts.

I return with a plate of sweets and a small cup of espresso from a café down the road. He doesn't think to ask how I come back so quickly. "If you so desire," I serve one piece, and tuck the tray away, "please sample the Dacquoise. It has a delightful caramel sauce that compliments the apple slices you are enjoying…Or if you prefer a slice of coffee cake?"

"Oh. Wouldn't mind if I do…"

"How did you come to meet him?" I watch him idly, with my hands folded.

He looks a little awkward. "The Viscount is a little…you know he likes to throw parties. Get-togethers. I suppose we met through that…" He fiddles with the desert forks. "I wanted to meet, ah, someone."

I nod, speculating on whether or not he realizes the nature of that someone he so wished to meet. Not a new life, I should say…but a plaything. A cute little girl who would adore him. I can see it in his expression, and due to the many years I've spent under contracts with men. "How long have you known him?"

"Not more than a year. But we only met a few times a month…when we were at the parties, I mean." His eyes shift to his watch. "So. That is…what's happened to the rest of the circle? Those who…who were there."

I shrug, tilt my chin to the side, and raise an eyebrow.

"…oh…." He slumps back in his seat. "Well then."

The silence stretches on. "So…what did you know about that night?"

Outside, there's a flicker of movement. A certain blond Reaper pulls at my senses. He's not looking this way, but is in my line of sight. After him, I catch a glimpse of Ciel, trailing the Reaper in a rather professional way. What is he doing in this area, wandering around like a confused dog with a scent?

The mark shakes his head dumbly. "Nothing. We were supposed to practice channeling our spiritual energy. He didn't say anything that made me…" He looks down at his plate. "He wasn't suspicious." He finishes.

I smile slightly, marveling at the rate of human rot, and his depravity. "But you knew he would take energy from someone? Some girl for everyone to have their way with?"

The man flushes a deep red down to his neck. "It wasn't like that! I never saw him hurt a girl, or take more than she wanted to give, dammit." His hands shake. Ah. How they hide from themselves their own defilement.

I nod with satisfaction. His reaction proves that the circle was swindling magical energy out of girls. "And you didn't get suspicious when you never saw those same girls again, did you?" I lean in by his ear.

I've had enough playing nice for Ciel.

If the man values his life, he'll tell me more if he thinks he's in danger of losing it. This filthy specimen isn't worth my time…especially when reapers and my young master are traipsing about just under my nose.

Perhaps sensing some of my demonic nature, or more likely, acutely aware of his own helplessness, Mortell gives out an unbecoming screech.

I chuckle, low in my throat. "I'm afraid I don't have time for more pleasantries." I spray an assortment of cutlery in my hand, flexing my wrist just enough to suggest where I might throw them. "Could you tell me how long your little organization has been active?"

The man whimpers. I throw a fork into his chair.

"I'm new! I don't know—no more than a year, at most, but almost everyone has been—been," he looks at the silver in my hands, distracted. I wave him on encouragingly. "…has been in for much longer than a few months. He changes his inner circle with the seasons."

I nod. "Are there any members who were previously part of a similar situation? I would like to introduce them to my master…Your recommendation would be?"

Mortell shakes his head vigorously. "No one like that. . .nothing so unclean."

I scoff. "Come now. Let's speak plainly No one who seems to be comfortable with group rituals, hostages and secrecy?"

He flinches. "They're all as clueless as me! I should know, they try and flaunt the most basic information. I'll give you money," his voice is thin and reedy. "I can teach you the rituals—"

"There's no need for that." I examine the thick fabric of the curtain. There are some remaining niceties from times past in this little office…thick drapes held with soft fabric is just what I need.

I smile. Just a little more housekeeping before I can see what my little master is up to now…

Moments later, I'm ready to leave.

I step out the window to get access to the roof. From there, it's merely a question of catching up to where Ciel has the reaper cornered, like a kitten with a rat.

I catch Ciel's sent on the wind, and get a sense of something Other close. The Reaper must have his Scythe nearby, or else there's a third party not far from here.

Ciel has cornered the Reaper somehow, trapping him at a zebra crossing that seems built for the purpose. There's traffic stopped up on one of the streets, and Ronald looks as though he's been looking for a way out, but Ciel keeps a close hold on him by proximity and the nature of passersby and their curiosity. The reaper doesn't dare to leave in an overly showy fashion, or Ciel will have a magnificent little show.

I come into hearing range as Ciel grabs at Ronald's coat. His words are like snatches of rain on the wind, but I know his meaning well enough. He speaks my name.

"Sebastian. He's—"

Ronald looks behind him with a slightly perplexed, somewhat annoyed look. "A demon?" He pulls back at the fabric, and attempts to push Ciel away.

"Obviously. I mean—" Ciel is not one to take a fight on his heels. He leans back into Ronald's space, further prohibiting the Reaper from another disappearing act.

Ronald leans away, touching his glasses with one gloved hand. "Uh. A good looking bloke? I guess?"

"I need help—his name." Ciel snaps, and he pulls at Ronald's hand. The Reaper, perhaps unused to human contact after so long, fidgets uncomfortably.

"Don't worry. Someone will get your soul before he devours it."

"That's not what I meant!" he snaps.

Ronald looks at him dispassionately, checks the screen of his smartphone, and shrugs. "You want his name. His true name."

Ciel nods tightly, unable to say anything. He seems such a weak little child now.

Ronald sighs and looks up to the sky. "Why are you asking me?" He shakes his head. "Whatever. We learn about it before we start the job…a name is knowledge of the person's true self."

"I know that." Ciel's voice is quiet. There's a delicious taste of despair and quiet hunger that I haven't seen in him in a long time.

"According to some, it is their past, the present, and parts of their future. I don't know about that, but I do know one thing." He squints at the screen, and swipes at a smudge. "A name changes in pronunciation with time, but its meaning is largely the same. Except for when hellfire and graces interfere, of course."

Ciel, looking more confused than ever, licks his bottom lip. He tilts his large eyes upward, and smiles in what Ronald probably sees as a shy, sweet little human boy's innocence. "How do I—"

Ronald shakes his head distractedly. "Listen kiddo, I gotta go. Some guy is about to bite it real quick now, and I have to be there to pick him up."

The reaper's eyes are on the walk signal. When the light changes, he practically dances across the road.

I notice myself smiling, pleased to have the reaper away from _my_ little morsel. So he promises to rescue Ciel's soul before I can get a meal? The thought is repulsive.

Ciel's hands fly to his eye patch, and he doubles over in pain. My own eyes glow.

"Is that all you've been up to recently? This is why you've been so intent on getting intimate with me?" I chuckle, low in my throat.

Ciel whirls around. "The—the witness?" He's pale in the dim light. Clouds cover the sky in a featureless blanket.

"Awaits your pleasure. Though I don't think he's linked to your own abduction, he seems to know about Druitt's society."

Ciel says nothing about losing the element of surprise, doesn't try to explain his master plan.

There isn't much for him to find, and now that I know he's looking, he's even less likely to succeed. It's child's play to exercise a counter plan when my little master has revealed his entire hand.

"Forget about it." Ciel sniffs. I don't care about the viscount's underground organization...one of my contacts is keeping an eye on them."

But I know him, and I remember what he's after. If I prod him right, he will fall right into my hands. "Are you still trying to get information from me, little master?"

Ciel stands his ground. He stares at me with a look of irritation. His hands clench.

"It won't work this way, with your gentle touches and familiar remarks." I allow myself a thin smile and continue, taking a step closer. "The extent of our contract does not go into personal duties. These little games are all fine and well, but do remember; I'm interested in your soul. I'll get it in the end."

Ciel stiffens, but forces his shoulders back into line. A sort of fire glimmers behind his visible eye, and his mouth trembles with suppressed anger.

He is such an appetizing thing, when he looks like this.

"I'm saying this for your own benefit- if you'd like to forget that unchangeable truth, so be it. I may even help you deceive yourself. But that's all it is. Deception."

I turn away from Ciel and look up at the sky. Let's see how he deals with this hand.

* * *

O0o0o0o0o

tbc….


	14. in darkness, he falls.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left all flustered, with Sebastian effortlessly showing how very hard it will be to get one up over a demon, Ciel plots.

      (Ciel)  
        
        
      I ball my hands into a fist for the umpteenth time before I make myself relax. _Focus on the task at hand._ 　I tap open a new application, checking another mail account. Old mail, old mail. . . _Made a fool of myself._ I slam my phone on the desk.  
        
      “Embarrassment leads to anger in a small man,” my mother used to say. But right or no, my blood boils.  
        
      Romantic walk like mum and dad? Idiocy.  It’s made me desperate as well as dumb.  
        
      What was I thinking? Of course Sebastian can’t be won over by sweet talk, or out maneuvered. And on top of it all, I let him know what I’m looking for.  A cold shiver of fear pierces the anger. To turn away from the promise made with a demon…would that break the contract?  
        
       _Be calm._ I take several slow breaths and close my eyes.  
        
      Several minutes later, I pick up my phone again. I scan the inbox once more, but this time a word catches my eye  
        
      …warehouse. That reminds me of something. Something from years ago…  
        
       _What would catch Sebastian`s attention?_  
        
      I click on the email, not to read, but in hopes of jogging my memory.  
        
      A warehouse worker…an old lead. Derik Stone. One of the first names linked to my abduction...the man who used a stolen delivery truck and fake ID to slip information to an interior decorator.  
        
      The interior decorator was found dead before people even realized I was missing— _before Sebastian even got me out of the cage_ —  but Stone had been left alive…  
        
      On a hunch, I do a search on him using Aberline’s login credentials to check a police database. Meanwhile, I do a cross reference in my own files. I barely remember what we did to check him out.  
        
      Police file first…Derik Stone changed his name legally, was arrested for trying to rob a gas station and was in prison for five years. He dropped off the map a month ago when he was released.  
        
      A buzz runs down my spine. Does he have information that he’s hiding? Could he be running to stay alive?  
        
      I open up my file…Sebastian questioned him in jail. He reported that Stone had no name for his informer, that he only received an anonymous email. He never met anyone, and didn’t know that my parents were to be shot and burned alive.  
        
      But then he disappeared after getting out of jail. If he’s alive, Sebastian can find him…if not, maybe we can get a new lead. Anyone trying to knock off their hirelings is a new potential suspect. But something nags at me…if they wanted, these mysterious informants could have killed him in prison. Stone must have known that, so why did he up and disappear at his first chance?  
        
      Or maybe I overlooked the obvious. I swear.  
      A simple search reveals his new name in the online phone book. _Damned police database wasn’t updated._  
        
      An hour or so later, I discover Stone has a temporary job in construction and his flat mate is no-one-notable. So he got out of prison and has a job. I sneer. He doesn’t deserve to live happily after being an accomplice to murder.  
        
      “Sebastian. Come here.”  
        
      Sebastian appears at my door, his footsteps ominous. “Yes?” His eyes flicker with amusement, and I wonder if he’ll erupt into laughter again, dissolving into undignified guffaws. But the moment passes.  
        
      “Do we have someplace discreet to question witnesses, or can I trust you to get me Derik Stone without anyone noticing?” I lean in my chair, trying to muster the imperious manner of my father.  
        
      Sebastian’s brow furrows, his lips forming a politely puzzled frown. “Derik Stone? The man in prison?”  
        
      His usually arrogant manner wiped away with surprise brings a flush of pleasure. It’s not often I surprise him; I feel as though I made a particularly clever move in chess. I smile, but try not to gloat. Much.  
        
      “He served five years and is out. You know he changed his name, and that woman he contacted in my family’s house was killed. But why not him? Inmates die in fights or accidents from time to time—I’m sure these people are organized enough to get one of their own in to do the job if they wanted. But he’s moved to the countryside,” the words taste sour.  
        
      “I want him.” I touch my eye. “Don’t make me order you. Bring him to me, and we’ll question him again.”  
        
      “Yes my lord,” Sebastian bows, his fringe concealing his face. Like a shadow slowly separating from my feet at high noon, he slips out.  
        
      I set back, content to wait. My dog will play fetch. I’ll finally get answers after all this time…My gut twists with anticipation.  
        
      Soon.

 

 

  
        
             o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

* * *

  
        
      (Sebastian)  
        
      So it comes to this. All of my careful nurturing comes to a boy lashing out at anything that offers _hope._  
        
      A blemished soul shines all the brighter…the boy who turns his arrogant head from the light seeking justice _at last_ resorts to threats of pain. My efforts have brought him here, but while I might revel in my triumph, a nostalgic longing for the damaged innocent I first encountered brings a twinge of sadness.  The balance of these two feelings keeps me resigned.  
        
      But the next stage is already unfolding around me. How far will he fall, my little master?  
        
      It is a simple matter to locate Stone. Keeping him quiet on the way back, on the other hand, is trying.  
        
      “I am sorry for the inconvenience sir.” I haul the man up by his neck, and drop my grip to dangle him by his shirt. I dangle him over empty air. “I’m afraid my master is insistent. But if you must, I can arrange for relocation. Is the ground floor preferable?”  
        
      The man finally settles, his howling screams subsiding into whimpers. He’s more or less quiet for the remainder of the trip. Mustn’t keep Ciel waiting.  
        
      At the last minute, I remember to veer away from the flat, and toward that place. I alight on the back window where Ciel waits and watches. I lower the man inside quietly, and move to a polite distance away.

      The child is a small figure of light against the swarming darkness, but shadows dance across his face. He does not shy from the man, or from me. As quickly as I deposit him, Ciel matches pace. He reaches down, pulling Stone’s head up by the hair. He makes a considering noise.

      Ciel stands over the man, his expression grim. I look closely, trying to gauge his state of mind. His eyes are hard. Cruel. Perhaps he sees the man on the ground as nothing more than meat with valuable information.  
             
             
      “P-please,” Stone coughs, but Ciel cuts him off.  
        
      “Do you remember me, Stone?” His voice is soft and sweet, so like my memory of him in our first encounter.  
        
      The man swallows hard several times, glancing to me. “I remember him,” he gasps. “He's a bloody d-devil.” Stone’s eyes are wild, terrified and hysterical.  
        
      “You…” he focuses on Ciel’s face, and is quiet for a long moment. “The boy.”  
       _A child no longer._  
        
      “Yes,” Ciel croons. His teeth glint in the light, and a tight sneer has marred his fair face. He lets go of the hair. “The boy whose family you helped murder. Now. I want information.”  
        
      I smile softly to myself. Children are impatient, hard to please and always eager for games. I move to close the curtains, and the last of the light vanishes from Ciel’s form.  
        
      It takes a moment before his eyes adjust to the darkness, but still he speaks. “Tell me what you told the woman.”  
        
      “N-nothing.” The man shakes his head like a dog shaking off water.  
        
      Ciel walks over to his chair. He casually pulls out a gun, clicks the safety off and trains it on the man’s stomach.  
        
      The man begins a low, keening moan.  
        
      “Bam!” Ciel shouts. The man jerks, his eyes wide with panic again.  
        
      “Just the time!” he shouts. Quieter, now, he continues.  “When she was to...God, I don’t know! Set something up, pick something up. I really don’t know! I put a box in a place.” The smell of fear comes off him in pungent waves.  
        
      “What was she supposed to do?” Ciel pronounces the words carefully. It could be mistaken for a curious tone, or an intellectual streak, rather than the short temper his words mask.  
        
      “I don’t know what she did. I really don’t know.”  
        
      “Why my family?”  
        
      Anger. Lust for revenge. Disgust. Grief. Excitement. A medley of delectable emotions ripple on his soul, behind his eyes.  
        
      But this way….is not refined. There is no elegance in his questioning, no hidden message in his words. He plays the game with ruthless and brutal efficiency—with all the grace of an SUV barging through a jewelry shop.  
        
      I would sigh, but silence speaks greater. This is _not_ how I envisioned the last few moves in our game…  
        
      “I don’t know,” the man whispers.  
        
      “Who do you work for?”  
        
      “I don’t know—I did it with emails!”  
        
      Ciel sighs with exasperation, and paces about his room. He stops by his computer desk, and runs a finger across the shiny plastic. “Why did you change your name?”  
        
      I look at the man, all trussed up, sweating with fear on the floor. He looks like a worm.  
        
      Stone meets my gaze and visibly flinches back with fear. Ciel looks to me for the first time since I’ve returned.  
        
      “I…because,” he swallows, his voice raw. “I did things. Other things.” He looks like he might swallow his tongue.  
        
      The boy considers me, and then looks back to his subject. “Sebastian, can you tell if he’s lying?” His words are all honey, a casual, gentle request. He delights in the panic it arouses in Stone.  
        
      I smile, and fix him with my gaze. “I know a few techniques to encourage him to stay honest,” I say, keeping my tone mild.  
        
      “No! Keep him away.” His voice breaks.  
        
      “What _things?_ What are you hiding?”  
        
      The man’s eyes flick from the gun and back to me, as though considering which is the bigger threat.  
        
      I open my mouth, ready to taste the confession of sin.

 

 

  
        
             o0o0o0o0o

 

 

 

* * *

  
        
      (Alois)  
        
      Of late, Ciel has been rash, even more secretive than usual.  
        
      I’ve been keeping an eye on him these past months.  Since the spring he witnessed my summoning, and everything after. I know he’s been to his aunt’s house and consulted her library. I know that he’s been to the Viscount’s party, and I know he questioned and left a Druitt cult-member tied up… and so, I waited.  
        
      I waited to be approached, for Ciel to ask so _nicely_ for information that I’ve collected about the occult. About fairies.  
        
      But Ciel doesn’t come.  
        
      Instead, he sends Sebastian off like a dog to do this or that, and now? He has a pest in his hidey-hole. Without even talking to me. Again. As if I were some ignorant country boy to be left alone, and not a courtesan who knows deep secrets and greater magic.  
        
      I thought he valued me—or at least my information—a little more than that.  
        
      And so I watch the curtain ripple closed and lose my visual. Now what is Ciel doing in there?  
        
      There’s a slight ruckus as something large falls over, and a soft but resonating thump. The floor doesn’t quite shake, but the windows do. Soemthing’s going on in there—and the man screams once. He’s not screaming in a happy sort of way—more like the terrified shitless sort of way some people get around Sebastian.  
        
      I can’t hear whatever it is Ciel is saying. And I don’t know if Sebastian replies.  
        
      I imagine I hear the sound of a door closing. The door to the basement? But it’s just fancy. I hear nothing.  
        
      Nothing at all.  
        
      Not yet ready to give up, I pull a matchbook from my pocket—the sticks of real wood add elements necessary to the magic, and with a single strand of Ciel’s hair to tune the scrying flame, I let it go. I cup it between my hands, and pull it out, lengthening and spinning it like a spider’s glossy web.  
        
      It appears down below, in the basement Ciel and his demon have barred me from. But they won’t see it; the fire is black, mere smoke on the other side, and I can see no details—it’s too dark. Just once, I see the glint of metal.  
        
      I can hear only snatches of sound—clinks and quiet thuds. Rustles of fiber or rocks under tread.  
        
     This goes on for some time.  
  
At last, I hear words.  
  
"You don't want me to do this." Ciel's voice is like a knife. My skin turns to gooseflesh; my friend can't-  
  
I sharpen the fire with a pull of an ember-thread.  
  
"Take a care." Ciel sounds bored, but on edge.  
  
I shift, moving the flame downward and over. Maybe a change in angle will reveal what's. going. on.  
  
The next words are aching, fearful, and empty. "—woman—"  
  
A crackle of flame hides the rest. What did you do, Ciel Phantomhive?  
  
I wait. Again I hear whimpers, screams and little else with my scrying flame.  
  
There's finally bits of the stranger's words, "That woman and" I concentrate, feel the fire warm between my palms. "-er red pet—"

  
      An eerie sense of the predator is upon me. It’s like I’ve wandered down the forest path to find a great wolf—monstrous and calm and huge, but wrapped in a man’s  clothing.  
        
      There’s only a soft whisper, a tiny, “hhf” of breath, and it winks out.  
        
      A chill runs down my spine. _Sebastian._ He’s taken the link to my scrying flame—and I can hear naught else.  
        
      Before panic can freeze my feet, I stand. Pull myself from the whispers of notice-me-not smoke—fire and air are my elements, after all—and throw myself as quietly as I can to the steps. I take flight, free footed, trying not to think of the beast behind me.  
        
      Even minutes down the street, I feel its ragged breath on my neck. I pant for breath,  expecting cool hands to drag me back, in through that window and down to the cold,  dark basement. Where Ciel waits.  
        
      My foot comes down too hard. My ankle twists, and the thin shoes pull all the wrong ways. I should have worn boots—but I’ve learned to forget the outside. Ever since that time…  
        
      …my breath catches. I feel that chill, the whisper of wind that comes with Sebastian’s too fast feet—and I cry out. Curl down towards the floor, and turn my eyes toward him in a desperate plea for  more time—  
        
      --only to discover the empty street. Cold and heartless.  
        
      There are no _demons_ here.  
     


	15. his master, impatient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel doesn't know what to do, and who should come to his door?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer Notes: some of Sebastian’s lines are paraphrased from the manga. Nothing owned, nothing gained.  
> Warnings: Ciel is reeling between emotions—shock, anger, fear. Some angst to be expected.  
> 

(Ciel)  
  
“Do something with the body.” I whisper, and head out the door.  
  
I rub at my temples. My throat feels too dry, like it’s crawling. I twist the ring on my finger, and notice a tiny spot on my sleeves cuff.  
  
The twilight is too bright. I look around the street, making sure there’s no suspiciously unmarked cars. No figures on roofs watching. There isn’t, and I take a few steps forward.  
  
“Sebastian. Is anyone…watching?” I don’t like the trembling in my voice, or my dependence on his abilities—  but the night was long, and I feel weaker than ever.  
  
Sebastian merely looks at me. “My lord, there is no one.” He smiles. “Your deeds are yet unknown.”  
  
“Make sure that it stays that way.” I imagine curtains rustling, and my gaze flickers upward, around the empty street. “Take me home.”  
  
Sebastian nods. “And…our guest?”  
  
“Take me home, Sebastian.”  
  
The flat is still, quiet. My home is no better than the abandoned building; there’s a heaviness that pulls, and something in the air that’s not quite right. I imagine I can feel the weight of the dead man’s eyes on me, though no one in my family could see the dead.  
  
Nerves. It’s just nerves.  
  
Sebastian’s face is stoic, lacking even his characteristic smirk.  
  
Collapsing into the chair, I drum my fingers on the desk. The urge to get up and pace is on me, when I really should be sleeping. No, showering…my mind is too busy to sleep.  
  
Stone’s words ring in my ears.  
  
“Can I bring you anything, young sir?” Sebastian’s voice shakes my concentration.  
  
My eyes snap to him. “Tea.”  
  
Like always, Sebastian is proficient, neat, and done with the task before I’d like him to be. Is it my sense of time, or…?  
  
“You’re mocking me.” I accuse, snatching the cup with too much force. It spills over, some of the liquid burning my finger. Thoughtlessly, I bring my hand to my face, and then recoil.  
  
“Is something the matter, young lord?” With a quick flick of the wrist, Sebastian’s handkerchief is blotting the liquid. “If I may…” he hesitates just long enough for me to think he might be human. “You need sleep.”  
  
Stone’s eyes are cold and heavy. I imagine him, lying there in that place, ready to be discovered. “Did you do something with the body?” I don’t recognize that scratchy voice as my own. “ _Take care of it._ ”  
  
“Of course, my lord.”  Sebastian leans down to wipe up the rest of the tea. He lifts the cup, saying, “Will you be needing another cup?”  
  
I shake my head, remembering a feast too rich and too strong for a weak stomach, nearly six years ago to the day. Another cup, that one of milk and honey.  
  
_Sebastian never changes._  
  
The thought cools my anger. I realize Sebastian’s come back, a new cup in hand. Another hot cup of milk and honey. As I sit there foolishly, he wipes my face with a warm, damp towel, and then he brushes back my hair. His smile is almost fond. _Like Tanaka’s, when he was still with my family._ A casual caress, and a voice resounding as a purr.  
  
“How do you find this tarnished crown?” Sebastian’s voice is rich, soothing. “The victory garland I promised you…” The beautiful face of a demon, ever poised. Seeming nearly _concerned_ , until he opens his mouth.  
  
“You have a devil’s tongue.” I say dully. It strikes me as ridiculous, and I smile thinly. “There’s no victory here.”  
  
Sebastian’s gloved fingers brush my cheek. An affectionate gesture—what human could do so at a time like this?  
  
“It was very brave of you…to take the case so thoroughly into your own hands.” His smile is sardonic.  
  
“It wasn’t brave.” I mutter, looking away from him.  
  
“Or else you were a coward…”  
  
My gaze snaps up to meet his.  
  
He laughs. “…cowardly, to strike him down when his words displeased you.”  
  
My hands shake. “It’s the safest way. He could ruin everything.” _Could be the hand that brings the house of cards fluttering down._ It’s true. It has to be.  
  
Instead of replying, Sebastian cocks his head. After a moment, he murmurs, “There’s someone at the door.” With a half bow, he gestures. “I’ll leave through the window to take care of your business.” And like that, he disappears. A shadow into darkness.  
  
I head to the door, checking the peephole. It’s Alois. I struggle not to panic—I can’t send him away. He’s got too keen a nose for trouble.  
  
“Are you going to let me in or not?” Alois demands. I wonder, then, if he’s slept, or if like me, he’s seen the early hours of the dawn without resting.  
  
I open the door. “Alois, I’m working—”  
  
He snorts, sounding decidedly uncouth. “You aren’t. You’re done for the night, aren’t you?” He eyes my rumpled shirt.  
  
“Sod off. Can’t you see I should be sleeping?” I finger the edges of the cuffs, wondering if I’ve soiled the fabric since I changed…I can’t have…surely.  
  
“I’ll keep you company.” He looks around like a fox wary of pursuit. “Sebastian’s not here.” He declares, and a smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He collapses bonelessly into my vacated chair, drawing patterns on the surface with one finger.  
  
“What do you want?” I want to snap at him, to hassle him out of my flat. Like I usually would. But I sound guarded, even to me.  
  
“I’ll keep you company.” He repeats. “I make a lovely pillow, you should know…”  
  
A startled laugh puffs out of me, making my shoulders bounce. The laughter pours out, and then dries up with what little breath I have.  
  
Alois is staring. “What’s so funny.”  
  
“Nothing. I’m tired.” My thoughts whirl, and I wonder what persona I should take on. Anything, really. Except a nervous teenage boy who’s just—    
  
I shake my head, and try feebly to soothe his wounded pride. I’ll go for a friend, then. Tired and annoyed. “I know you’re good at things like that, Alois…you…” I shuffle for words. “But, I don’t—”  
  
Now it’s Alois who’s laughing. “Mm. Yes…” He sniggers. “Want to snuggle in bed?”  
  
I roll my eyes. “Please. No. Get off my chair.”  
  
He ignores me, and starts spinning. “Sebastian’s getting out of control?” he suggests, eyeing me. “Is he not following orders?”  
  
“Of course not.” I scoff. “He’s obedient as ever.”  
  
“Obedient.” Alois echoes.  
  
“Quite.”  
  
“Then why are you so fucking nervous?” He demands, stilling the chair with a foot. His eyes are piercing.  
  
I take a moment to consider Alois. He has ties to the magic world—and more than that, he’s one of several higher up information brokers. I should be careful with my words around him. “It’s a private matter.” I shake my head. “The trail is getting old…so maybe I’m restless.”  
  
A partial truth is better than any lie.  
  
His grin is feral. “Oh?” But he’s not good at waiting for answers to present themselves. Alois is more of a talker. “You’re looking into _demons,_ Ciel Phantomhive. Have dealings with that kind ever ended well?”  
  
“Ah, and how lax tongues wag…what are you two talking about?”  
  
Alois stiffens, his eyes widening— in fright? –as Sebastian moves to stand beside me.  
  
“Tea for two.” I demand. “And call Undertaker. I need to talk to him.”  
  
_I wonder if he burned the body. Or dropped it in the Thames._  
  
When Sebastian’s out of my room, Alois relaxes a fraction. He’s turned his charm up again, and has all of his borrowed nobility, and much of his charisma. I suppose he grew into those talents…leading the life he did.  
  
“You’ve got milk.” Alois points out. “Really. I always knew Sebastian liked cats…but does he think you’re one?” He stirs the cup lazily with the dainty silver spoon.  
  
“That’s mine. Don’t you dare drink it.” I start, but of course, he already is.  
  
Alois grins at me, showing a flicker of pink tongue. “Meow.”  
  
I stare at him. “What do you want again?”  
  
He shakes his head. Somehow, I get the feeling even he doesn’t know. “I’m going to drink tea with you. And then I’ll go. I promise. Also. You should take a nap before you visit Undertaker…else he’ll just push you around.”  
  
Once, I thought our lives mirrored one another’s.  
  
Looking at him now, I wonder if it’s true. A former prostitute who’s stolen his lover’s name and wealth, and a boy who’s lost his family, his position, and his home.  
  
Well. Maybe neither of us are boys anymore…  
  
I motion him up. “Let’s go to the sitting room.”  
  
“You could always have the bed…” he mutters, but of course, does as I ask.  
  
Between tea, scones, and small talk, Alois only manages one thing more. “In the dark. Take your hand and make a circle. Say these words, and you’ll have light.” He slips me something white—a paper napkin he’s scribbled on from god only knows when.  
  
Sebastian sees him out, tall, mocking, and then sees me to bed. He’s just a hint warmer than before. The memories clash with my childhood recollections of him—I remember his hand on my cheek.  
  
Has he ever touched me like that, before?  
  
I can’t remember. And then, darkness overtakes me.  


* * *

  
  
tbc...


	16. His master, asking favors.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel has been looking for answers for five years, and has had little progress. Now, with the contract's end looming over him, he finds one last lead...but to confirm it, he must ask a few questions.

o0o0o0o

(Sebastian)

Ciel walks casually, careful not to steal glances at his surroundings or to hesitate at doors or zebra crossing. He approaches the Undertaker's as though he has every right to wander into an apparently run-down shop, no more suspicious than a newsagent's stand.

My little master is so absorbed in walking naturally and not attracting attention that he actually walks a few paces too far. I clear my throat. Ciel turns around and goes through the door.

The inside is gloomy and dark compared with the early afternoon light, but I can just make out the tall figure intertwined with a something hanging from thin ropes. Posed like a life sized doll, he doesn't move from its embrace.

Ciel squints in the dim light. "Undertaker?" He takes a step forward, his shoe touching some clutter on the floor. "Sebastian, turn on a light."

"Yes, my lord." I switch on the closest two lights at hand, temporarily silhouetting the figure and the thing hanging from the ceiling. One last light reveals Undertaker, his pale skin nearly matching the white bone of the skeleton.

Ciel blinks rapidly several times and swallows hard. Perhaps he remembers the cooling flesh of the dead man. But he cannot focus on anything more than what he came to do.

"Get me the files on these people." He tosses a single sheet of paper with the names printed onto the nearest table. "I need the hospital records and their autopsy reports."

Undertaker slides off his perch. He frowns, languidly stretching his neck. "Don't you think you're rushing things? Where's my laugh, Ciel?"

Ciels eyes refocus on the gray figure before him. A second later than he might usually reply, he snaps, "You owe me from last time. That wasn't much of a lead!"

But Undertaker either has no sympathy for a decidedly-in-shock Ciel, or finds it not interesting enough to remark on. If he notices at all. He fixes Ciel with his pale yellow-green eyes. "Mister Phantomhive…" He moves slowly, straightening his neck centimeter by centimeter, as though he had all the time in the world.

Ciel sighs, exasperated. "I emailed you on the way here. Read your bloody email and be done with it."

Undertaker cackles. "…it was a good one…" he admits, "but I would have loved to hear you deliver that one in person, Ciel…" He shakes his head, his long hair swaying like spider webs in a draft. "I wonder, sometimes, how long you can last…how long will you come to visit me?"

An impatient child to Undertaker's amused seniority, Ciel taps his foot, and puts a hand on his hip. He absently fingers the hem of his shirt under his jacket, betraying more nerves than he might wish to show. He looks around, jumping at shadows.

Ah, how dead men prey on his mind.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll go see what I can scrounge up…I may even have some tea and biscuits somewhere…" Undertaker moves off into the back of the shop.

Ciel's eyes—the one visible and the one hidden by the sturdy eye patch—track the Undertaker into the back room. But he knows better than to follow…

Currently, the door opens. Ciel is slower to catch the sound, but the pompous click- clack of heels on the tile rings clearly even to human ears. A brush of silken fabric against a cluttered floor, and a quiet scoff of annoyance. Finally, Ciel turns to face the noise.

His breath catches in his throat.

Madam Red stops for a moment, and an expression of surprise curves her lips. "Ciel! Darling." She does not move closer to him.

Ciel's face flushes suddenly, and his breath quickens. That heart of his might burst if he's not careful…

"Aunt Anne. Good evening."

She nods distractedly, her gaze wandering around the room, and she leans against the wall. Her expression is tense; her lips are pursed tight.

Ciel's gaze flicks between her and the way the Undertaker went. He is still at a loss for words.

Without so much as an opening door to announce his presence, another pair of heels strike the tile. The stride is long, almost cheerful, despite the strange atmosphere. There's the scent of tea leaves and blood, and then I hear a sharp intake of breath.

The squeal of air particles whistling past, tap, tap, taping as the should-be-Reaper, would-be-assistant springs into the room. His ruby-red lips make a cupid's bow, and true to metaphor, he shoots arrows of horrible pickup lines. "Well. Aren't you looking devilish, Sebas-chan!" He takes another few steps, and nearly lands in my vicinity. A few quick steps prohibits further incident, and he crashes into the wall.

"Darling." He straightens his hair, rubbing at what's likely to swell later. "I know how light on your feet you can be, but don't you think it's more gentlemanly to—?" At last, he recognizes the young man at the counter to be Ciel. Grell clears his throat, wipes at his makeup, and changes his demeanor rather effectively.

He thumbs at the cuff of his shirt, pressing off the last traces of lipstick by biting his lip and half-sulking. I suppose there's a glamour on his hair, but the light is so poor at the Undertaker's, I doubt Ciel would have noticed.

"Ahhh, Ciel." He stutters. "I-I heard you were in a bit of a difficult situation…" he sniffs, leaning towards his lady for direction. "Fancy you, in this awful place…"

Madam Red laughs tiredly. She finally seems to have focused in on the conversation. She manages a tiny smile, and deigns to notice her nephew again.

Ciel watches her like a drowning child, betrayed. He does not return the gesture.

Grell slides a few steps closer to me, long fingers grasping. It's simple enough to sidestep him once again, but this sends me closer to both Ciel and his aunt than propriety would have once deemed appropriate. At the moment, however, neither party seems to notice.

I touch Ciel's arm, signaling for discretion.

Madam Red has no such adviser, and her only partner is distracted. His pupils are wide behind fashionable frames, and he breathes in deep the scent of distilling liquids and other strange artifacts. His attention is hardly here at all…

"Ciel…I think I'm drunk." She declares.

Ah. Perhaps the Reaper is as well…it would explain his…lapse.

Her hands tremble, and she continues unguardedly. "You have to be, you know. To come to Undertaker…" Her lovely head droops, and those garnet eyes of hers drift down. She silently looks at Ciel as though she was in another world altogether. Her speech is slow, careful, and so she does not slur, but her sharp wit is altogether dulled.

"I have to ask him a favor…"

Ciel sniffs. "Is that so?" He asks, just as carefully. His hands clench and open again, but she cannot see them. He is safe from suspicion (tangy. Sharp on the tongue), so only dull indifference gnaws at him. He fights to keep his silence, to ask the questions that could burn.

Grell simpers, too keen on keeping his butler façade. "Maybe I should ask if he's ready to see—"

"No." Madam Red's voice is firm. "Let him come to us."

Grell looks at my young master, but as ever, his eyes slide over him. The would-be butler (personal assistant) has no interest in slight, feminine boys. Instead, he appeals to Madam Red. "But Madam—" Likely, he wants to reapply makeup.

I snicker.

She shakes her head, and laughs not-so-gently. "What did I say?" Slowly, she rests her hands on the counter. When Grell, fidgeting and wary of eyes, looks away, she nods once. Satisfied.

"I…" Ciel forgetting the most basic of rules to the game. Reveal no strategy, no clues that you aren't forced to reveal. His wavering voice might seem like that of a frightened child, but I can sense his uneasy rage. The doubt that ties him to the underworld.

Finally, Grell's eyes flit over him. Curiosity makes them wide.

I touch one hand to Ciel's shoulder. There is no need for words; the boy falls silent.

No footfall heralds the return of Undertaker. Only a whisper of long, white hair, and a quiet snigger. "Your files, young Phantomhive." His fingers curl around Ciel's wrist.

Ciel stares at the files, and hardly seems to notice the Undertaker. He tears his hand away without thought to long, black nails which leave angry red marks on his fair skin.

He heads for the door, nary a glance for his aunt (who wouldn't have noticed either way) or for Grell.

Out of the fall of the light bulb, Ciel finally stops and mutters into the darkness. "Thank you." he says eventually.

"I wonder…" Undertaker replies. "If this is the end of your long search, Ciel?"

Madam Red looks up. Her gaze wanders around the room, suddenly confused as to her nephew's whereabouts. "Ciel?" she calls quietly.

"It will be the end." Ciel says darkly. "Or else I'll be grasping at straws and dead ends all over again."

He walks away, heedless to his aunt's confused question.

"Surely he's not still…"

But the Undertaker, darkly amused, only shakes his head. "What indeed, Madam Red…"

But I have no interest in their tedious conversations. I follow Ciel out.

He closes his eyes and takes a slow breath. But he knows better than to linger at the door, and begins moving. His face, ordinarily so free of emotion is wrought with dread. At a zebra crossing he twists his ring, rubs at a cut on his finger.

"Having regrets?" I murmur. Ciel Phantomhive is the kind of person to claim none, but nonetheless, he will feel guilty.

I have watched a child of eleven change into the sixteen year old before me. He grows on borrowed time. Together, we piece together his future, his revenge.

"Don't be absurd. He helped murder my parents!" Ciel raises his voice, losing his hard wrought control in rare public display.

Ah, his complicated, human emotions. Horror. Guilt. Confusion. Pain. They all mingle together in a tantalizing musk. (Savory, an exotic spice that lingers on the tongue and burns the lips.)

I stop his fingers from further damaging his frail skin. Already it bleeds. "Look at what you're doing. You'll damage your hands."

Ciel jerks his hands away. "He deserved it." He sticks his chin up, and stills his hands forcefully. He flexes his fingers before shoving them in his pockets.

I chuckles. "Of course, my lord. As it should be."

"I'm not feeling guilty." Ciel mutters, glaring. "It just wasn't supposed to be like that…end like that…"

"'But it is so, and it was so,'" I quote, my voice like a song. "'And here's the hand I have to show.'"

Ciel's face is as white as milk. He takes a step in silence, and then another. "Stop messing around. I don't like that fairy tale."

I only laugh.

Together, we walk to a part of town Ciel usually visits in disguise. Ciel closes his eyes, and looks to the horizon.

"It must be done." Ciel murmurs, and looks to his side. In response, I bow. All's that's left is to wait…

One final game before time's up.

o0o0o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...
> 
> I really enjoy writing Sebastian PoV.....
> 
> So~ delight me with a conversation? :) What are you thoughts on this installment? (Short or long, I read and adore all replies.


	17. downward, they fall. / Cutting family ties.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel confronts his Aunt.

(Ciel)

"I hoped…you'd come." I say, looking at my aunt's black shoes.  
She laughs softly, walking down the cobbled path with a stately elegance. I'd almost forgot her posh bearing in light of…of things. Her hands, cool and steady, brush mine. Then she cups my cheek, forcing me to look up.

Her eyes are bright.

"Why the glum face?" She asks softly, and I realize her lips are as red as her costumes.

My throat is dry. Perhaps calling her here wasn't the best of ideas. Her familiar expression reveals a half-hidden resemblance to my mother…I could almost forgive, forget.

Sebastian breaks his silence with a dark chuckle. When I turn to look, his butler's façade has cracked; his expression is just mad.

These last six years, I've played Dorian Gray to his Lord Henry. That foil, so possessive of the painting that kept him young…and if Sebastian were there, he'd have been laughing then, too. Laughing with no regard to social form or function.

"Darling," Aunt Anne sounds vaguely annoyed. "What's going on?" From my skewed vantage point, I can see the curve of her mouth, the tilt of her head. She's puzzled. "He's usually so charming…"

I give a nervous chuckle. I close my eyes, and her hand lets go. "Is there anything I can bring you?" Grell stutters. He sounds like he's in the corner, and his voice echoes across the parlor.

I wonder if my aunt notices. This place. The sign and furniture has been largely removed, but…she's made no mention. She gives me so little _clue_ that she's really the one.

I steal a glance. Grell has found an old tray, but no tea set. He fidgets, turning partially and shifting from foot to foot. "Really," he simpers. "It'd be no trouble. Tea, perhaps?" His twitchy smile doesn't mask his unhappy gloom.

"Young sir." He goads, and his voice is anything _but_ teasing. Sebastian's amusement is buried behind a few simple means; near-closed eyes, and a mouth pressed firmly in place.

"There are things I need to ask you." I say stiffly.

Aunt Anne nods. I catch her eye, and a familiar, tired smile plays between painted lips and eyes. "Go ahead."

"Do you know this place?" I gesture at the ornate tiles and the distinctive bar.

She looks around, the image of polite confusion. "No, Ciel. I don't."

Grell chuckles weakly, and takes a few steps in another direction. "Perhaps the young sir—" imitating Sebastian? "—would like to explain to a poor, tired lady—"

More laughter from Sebastian. I begin to wonder if he's snapped.

My aunt shrugs. "I can guess it's a pub, more likely a bar…"

I laugh dryly. "Oh." I look up at where an ornate lamp fixture used to be, and over at a discrete, formerly well-polished stairway.

She follows my gaze. "Ciel." She urges, but there's warning in her voice. Fire, too.

"Cat got your tongue?" Grell offers, and his voice is strangely flat.

"The place was made famous a year or so back," I begin. There's not enough to say, but enough to know to fill a book.

If I were looking, I'm sure I'd see Sebastian's eyes flash. Instead, he murmurs, "Will you say no more? Have you given up, then?" His quiet voice is in my ear, though we're so far apart.

Anger surges in me, and with it, words. "A murder. Bloody, grisly, and full of dead ends." I snap. "Ring a bell?"

She stiffens, but shakes her head. My aunt, ever fond of old fashions, has a small broach pinned at her neck, and her hand flies to it.

There's a strange feel to the silence. It's as though the air has turned to stinging ice.

Someone's heels click on the tile. I look to the offending noise, and find Grell…dressed in a long jacket and high lace-up boots that I don't think I've ever seen in men's footwear. He undoes the ribbon tie, shaking his long hair with uncalled for theatrical motion. Against the back-light, his features are cast in shadow.

"Ah." Madam Red says, and her hands relax, falling to her side.

"That's all?" I demand. "That's all you have to say?"

She turns her gaze on me, anger flashing in those crimson eyes of hers. "What about it?"

"I've drawn up a list of girls murdered with similar characteristics. The ones with blood all over and suspiciously altered…or missing…organs." I've done the legwork. I've read the Undertaker's stolen hospital files, and then autopsy reports.

Grell steps closer to Madam Red. His arms are crossed against his chest, and an unusually haughty expression has overtaken his ordinarily worried face. He "Hmms." He's looking at me, and his yellow-green eyes have never seemed so catlike.

Sebastian takes up the report, his tone severe. "Doctors have been looked into quite thoroughly, Madam Red, and do you know what was discovered?"

"No." She says curtly, and she turns away from us both.

"The first young women to be found, and a few more spread out over the years…all had a certain operation."

I remember that man. That man, who took money for sins.  
_"A woman!" The words broke out. "A murder." His voice was stumbling, hesitant and out of breath. Under my knife (the only smile in the room), Sebastian's eyes, he rushed on, spewing out words._

"I transported her bribe. To the same place I got the package for the spy. But the people who handle her bribe—they die." His voice quavered. What a foul stench… no regret. Only fear of pain and retribution. A small man. "Their organs are cut out and they wind up in the river."

"I don't know who that woman is. From before. Before your family was murdered. That was my last job. I swear I'm clean now, I swear. I didn't know what they would do—didn't know. It's not my fault."

I look down, unable to keep myself focused on the truth. "We know what you've been doing, Madam Red." I incline my chin. "Now. I need to know." Frowning intently, I take one step forward. It's dizzying. "What—"

She's laughing now, just as hysterically as Sebastian had been. Her voice is strained, high as a loon's whooping wail.

Someone else is laughing too, but it's darker. When I turn to see who it is, I'm startled to find Grell strutting forward. His heeled boots click until he stands at the far side. "Ah well. Ciel, Ciel…" he croons, and his smile is like knives.

I stare blankly into space. "Here, Aunt."

Her words bring me back into a world of black, white, and red. "How could you doubt one of your own?" her smile is like the one I remember from being little, with her teasing and taunting until I finally cried…or saw her way.

My hands tremble. The results of my searching, of the blood and pain that came of it…I want it to be false. But more than this, thirst for revenge drives me. It spikes my tongue, and damns my eyes.

"Those girls. You treated one in three of them, and you've covered shifts in other hospitals. Ones I don't know about, right? You're picking off the weak, and paying off bribes to keep your precious practice!"

The work that means the world to her.

More than me.

Sebastian breathes a careful breathe of anticipation. "If it weren't for your perfect alibi, even the dim-witted police would have caught on." He steps forward as well, and I can see him far better.

"Madam Red," I continue in as steady a voice as I can manage. "I know what you thought. Their lives are nothing, right?" Venom fills me up. I can taste it.

Grell laughs. His voice is strange. Not the soft, awkward poof, but verging on shrill. Manic. "Spit it out, Ciel, or go. Flee with your tail between your legs…"

Surprised, I whirl to look at him. "You…?"

He snaps a finger and spins gaudily, with a leap that no human could perform. He does something to send a ceiling light spinning, and cast a spotlight on himself.

His blasé features are decked in feminine makeup: his eyes shadowed and darkened with mascara. But his lips are a vivid red, and when he smiles, I realize his teeth have been sharpened into points. Grell's smile is like the chainsaw he pulls out from nowhere—bizarre and manic. I don't recognize him as the same man.

"So you figured it out, hmm. How do you like my look, Sebastian?" Was he always the obvious?

"I never would have guessed the dithering fool of a butler would be a reaper!" He steps to the side, neatly behind his threat, as though there's no threat whatsoever.

Grell shakes his head. "Yes, I'm a _wonderful_ actress, don't you think?" He spins on his heel.

"I wonder…" Sebastian tilts his head.

I look at Madam Red. My aunt. She's more shocked at Grell's sudden admissions to guilt than anything, I think. My voice is even, but quitter than the others. "You did it together, didn't you. Reaper and murderer."

She strikes out with words. "Their lives meant _nothing_. Those Filthy, greedy whores." Her lips curl. The expression doesn't suit her. Passion of this kind doesn't fit her at all.

"You killed those women. You paid my parents' _murderers_ to keep it a secret. You gave money to your sister's killers!"

Sebastian reaches out and touches my arm. It's not as though he's stopping me so much as he's…I don't know his intent. Holding me up, I suppose. He merely awaits her reply.

She shakes her head furiously. "How would you know about that?" Madam Red whispers, her pupils shrinking. "What do you know, you little brat! You could never understand. They wasted their lives and lost any right to it the moment they dared to try and double cross London's crime lords."

I have the cold feeling she's not talking about the murdered girls. She's speaking of my parents.

"He was a fool. A spy, a liar, and a traitor! I had _nothing_ to do with their deaths. I didn't even know they were involved until they were dead." She sounds defensive. "I never thought they'd speak to scum like those people."

"My parents worked with the _government._ They were under cover." My voice is hot, rough, to her cool, smooth rejection.

Madam Red flips her hair. "They were dirty enough to be accepted in the circles, you know. They weren't so innocent. Vincent probably was involved with God-knows-what-else. Besides, I _needed_ to clean my name. I needed to save my clinic."

Sebastian's voice is rich and smooth. And how do you think they were found out, Madam? Someone's careless tongue flapping."

"What would you know of adult affairs? They might have been involved in anything- why else would they be killed? I lost a lot of money, you know! I could still lose my clinic."

She is suddenly still. Then, her shoulders heaving, she lunges forward. "You stupid brat! You think you're any better? Your precious _father_ might have been 'undercover,' but you _aren't._ Do you think he'd be proud of you now?" She laughs.

Grell joins her, and muses, "Mmm. I wonder."

I stare at her, wordless. What _could_ I say?

"You're better off dead than on this track, Ciel Phantomhive. Nothing good waits for you." She turns away. "You shouldn't have been born." Her voice is a low warning. "Grell."

"Yes, Madam?" He moves forward. "Shall I take care of these two pests?" Laughter fills his voice, and mania creeps in on the edges.

Sebastian moves in front of me. "Little master…"

I close my eyes. "Stop the Reaper. We'll finish this tonight."


	18. Retreat

Chapter 18: Retreat

 

The bar is still dark, but a globe of warm light halos my aunt. Simultaneously, it obscures most of her expression from me, and draws my eye to Grell. He stands dressed in what looks like my Aunt’s red coat, and his hair is as fiery as hers is.

It’s all rather unreal. Later, I suspect the shock of it will come down on my double-fold. For now, I just try and follow what’s going on.

“What do you think of my real look, Sebastian?” Teeth flash and Grell gives a showmanly spin.

Sebastian doesn’t so much as smile. He looks down on Grell. “You disgust me.” He steps out into the cleared space, and his heels sound softly on the tile. Ever so slightly, he bends at the waist.

I tap my fingers, impatient for my orders to be carried out. This needs to end. But I don’t need to wait long—Grell runs at Sebastian, his chainsaw held at an angle. His laughter echoes off the close walls.

Sebastian rallies, spinning and bounding out of range. His feet leave the ground, and he flies upward in an astounding jump. His coat flaps around him, and his silhouette seems longer in the light.

Aunt Anne doesn’t spare me a glance, engrossed in watching the two of them. Sebastian told me I was in shock for the past few days. It looks like she might be now. “Look what you’ve done. If only you hadn’t said anything, we could still play games of chess.” She is quiet for a moment.

Grell bounds inspite of his high heels, and for a few steps, he walks on the walls instead of the floor. As quick as a snake, he catches up to Sebastian, snagging his black coat on that saw.

Fabric shreds.

“My sister’s child.” Finally, she turns to look at me, hurt pride and anger masking any affection she might have felt for me. “How did it come to this?”

Closing my eyes, I shrug. “How could I play chess with a murderer? Or have tea with my parents’ enemy?”

She scoffs. “It always comes back to that with you. Don’t you realize? It was never about them.” She raises her hand, and looks at her manicure. I wonder how she sees it? The dainty finger-bones look all too prominent to me…I can’t imagine her wielding something as uncouth as a butcher’s blade. I can barely imagine her cutting up women and selling their pieces.

As if to answer my thoughts, she raises her eyes. “Do you think it’s about right and wrong, good and evil?” Her voice is raw, hoarse. “Nothing’s right or wrong. It’s all chance.”

Behind us now, demon and reaper leap in a parody of a dance; they are graceful and ruthless, every move executed with the skill of world-class athletes.

I hear Sebastian’s breath. I can see strange blurred whizzes even when he’s not in my sight, and it distracts me. I rub at my eye.

“Sebastian…you knew I what I was, didn’t you?” Grell croons. “You always knew.” Taunting, smooth, and hateful.

“Shut up.” I mutter.

Sebastian snorts. “What if I did?” there’s a sound like footsteps, and then he calls back at Grell, a few more barbs in his voice. “You should have stayed neutral. You know that Reapers aren’t meant to be on this—”

“And it’s all right for you to play with the mortals? Just admit it, Sebastian. You love me.”

Above me now, their voices fall down like rain. “Filth.” He murmurs. “I have my reasons.”

“And you won’t leave, even when faced with a Death Scythe?”

“I made a vow to the moon…” Sebastian laughs.

“…what a dishonest man…” Grell puffs out, and something sparks. One light goes out in a shower of sparks.

With it, her temper. “Do you think it was fair, that it was right for those people to take you?”

What is she saying? I stare at her, eyes wide.

“That the sins of the father should be carried by the son?” White foam flies from her perfectly painted lips. Somewhere along the line, she’s gone from detached victim to enflamed (would be) martyr.

“What do you know about that night?”　My voice is cold, like my anger.

“Nothing, Ciel. I had nothing to do with it.” Her words are quiet, bitter. She watches Grell and Sebastian trade blows, and her hands clench tightly.

She needs some motivation to speak, I think.

What weapons do I have? I have Sebastian and his contract, and what else? I may have ordered Sebastian to take care of the reaper— I want to kill him, to stop the murders—but what to do with my aunt? Aside from violence, what else do I have?

Alois’s abbreviated instructions float back into mind. “In the dark. Take your hand and make a circle. Say these words, and you’ll have light.”

Memories of my aunt playing with fire in my childhood reminds me of Alois’s magic…my latest brush with magical fire being the result of Alois’s spell, I’m not exactly eager to give his new spell a try. But I pull out the paper anyways. My aunt has studied magic. She’ll understand what it means, or assume it’s some kind of attack.

I flourish the spelled paper before me. Madam Red gives me her full attention, her sharp eyes on the new threat. She lights fire in her hand in an instant, the flames casting shadow on half her face. “Ciel, what gifts do you have, mmm? You never let on that your magic developed more than reading spell books. Books you never used.”

But I don’t have time even decide to make a circle—something unexpected happens.

The paper flares a brilliant purple light, and my eye smarts with pain. There’s something hot and scratchy on my eye—I rub it, and the colored contact falls out, dried and misshapen.

Of course, it was Alois’ spell. Who knows what it was really for—maybe he wanted to know for certain what I’ve done with Sebastian. But sure enough, there is light. Light in the darkness than strains my eyes. Half truths. Half lies.

Looking at me, Madam Red gasps. “Ciel, baby. What have you done?”

Too late, I realize she’s seen the contract sign. And she knows what it is…how could she not? Belatedly, I try and cover it with one hand.

To my side, Sebastian’s eyes are also reacting to the paper, crumbling into ash in my hand. He and Grell approach us.

Suddenly, the reaper grabs Madam Red’s hand. He pets her cheek, leaving a streak of Sebastian’s crimson blood there. “It’s a devil’s contract.” Sharp teeth glisten, and his glasses shine. “And soon, it comes due.” Behind the lenses, his yellow-green eyes are like those of a cat.

Sebastian stands before me, frowning as he touches my hand, pushing it away. He examines my eye. “I told you eye contacts were not a good idea…let me see,” he fusses.

I slap his hand away.

“Ah.” Sebastian murmurs. “Pride.” He tilts his head. “A heady flavor, Ciel. Best not try too much of it.”

With another cry, Madam Red falls to her knees, all her anger spent. Tears come to her eyes. She shakes her head. “Foolish, stupid boy.”

Grell laughs, bearing his pointed teeth. “He’s afraid, Madam. He’s striking out before it all is over.” Touching his lips, he makes a pout I’m probably intended to think is cute. “I mean, what boy wants to die?”

Ignoring the reaper, Madam Red struggles to her feet. She shakes with emotion I cannot accept. “Ciel, a contract like that is blood magic— you’ll—” Her concern, her pity is like acid.

“--lose his soul. Poor dear.” Grell interrupts. “And we can’t let him talk before he goes, so, might as well say goodbye early. Save his soul and all that crap.” Grell leans forward, too fast even for Sebastian to block.

Instead of waylaying Grell, Sebastian shoves me to the side, blocking the vicious blade with the thick metal support from part of the building. It breaks, and Grell is on him like a shark smelling blood.

Flesh rends.

Sebastian frowns, and staggers to the side. Red blossoms on his crisp white shirt.

“Did you really think you could match my Death Scythe with nothing more than a little metal stick?” Grell crows.

I stare at the raw edges of the weapon, shiny with Sebastian’s blood. _Why does Sebastian bleed? Does he really have blood?_ Foolish musing distract me from what happens before me.

Grell turns to me, the grisly saw held high. He runs forward. Heading for me.

“No!” Her voice is anguished. So like my mother’s…

There’s a hissing, sizzling noise as Madam Red’s fireball strikes the blade. Nothing seems to happen at first, but Grell frowns and stops. “Oh, darling. He’s going to die anyway.” He shakes his head. “Show me that spirit, that vicious intent! Kill him, and we can continue our forbidden romance with death, Madam.”

But Madam Red shakes her head. She opens her mouth to speak. “I can’t. He’s my sis—”

But the words go unsaid. Grell, ever swift, lunges and strikes. Merciless and inhuman, he cuts her down with a blow to her stomach. He pulls up, cracks her ribs. The sound is terrible.

Aunt Anne, Madam Red, the murder. Some link to my parent’s murder. Her body flies through the air, eerily slowed by some sort of light and moving pictures streaming from the wound.

Frozen, and somehow still falling, she cries without sound.

In the darkness,  
her lips pressed thin, my aunt gives in. She sighs

and memory

is upon us.


	19. Cinematic Record: An Ode to Madam Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate take on Madam Red's life, in the modern world. This chapter could be read as a one-shot, or red in context with the larger story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slang used is mostly from reading UK literature. Fellow Americans, a fag is a cigarette. The rest should be fairly clear—and remember, this is set when Madam Red is in her early teens and then her twenties.
> 
> Due to the nature of the cinematic record, this is a bit jumpy. Don't worry if you don't understand every nuance and detail about Madam Red's life—just enjoy the story. (: Of course, you can ask me questions if you want to.

**Chapter 19** : _Cinematic Record_

Angelina Durless hated her sister's pristine look. Her beautiful complexion, and fine, perfect hair. Now that she was in secondary school, her friends had started to wear makeup, to think seriously about what fashion is in style, and what magazines or films are big. What boys are cute. Who's dating.

Before, it was all half in jest. Half play and partially teasing. The boys cajoled and spoke only to appear as perfect gentlemen to the teachers.

"Anne!" her best mate whispered. "Who do you think is best?" She gestured at a gaggle of football players. They routinely ignore the girls' attentions.

She fidgets. "Sorry?" avoiding the question, she awkwardly looked away. After all, her image of a perfect match is a little different from her mates' impressions.

Another friend giggled. "None of them, right? Your favorite has to be—" the girls clutched their hands together.

"—tall, dark, and handsome!" they chorused, land then fell into a fit of giggles.

OoOoOoOoO

Anne smiled. She lifted her hand to cover the boldness of it, to hide her pleasure, but he catches her wrist in one deft motion. Gently, he releases her, only to grip her fingers gently and present her with a kiss. As though she were a lady from the past.

Slowly, he released her. His dark eyes twinkled, and his manner was something else altogether. He could have been teasing. He could have been lying with all his body. "Lady Red was young, and Lady Red was fair," he quoted, "and she had more suitors than she could count on the fingers of both hands…."

She looked at him solemnly, eyes searching his face.

"Stop that!" Rachel pulled at Vincent's sleeve, then captured his wrist in one lily-white hand. "My sister's no Lady Mary. There'll be no Bluebeards, no bloody hands for her." She pushed him a bit, and good-naturedly, he stumbled back.

When Rachel put a protective hand on Angelina's, Anne stifled a smile. "Too true!" She laughed, and put on a haughty voice. "Nay, sister. There shall be no Bluebeard. I'd be the fox myself, charming and swindling men into doing my bidding." She felt more than a little proud of this, and could feel Vincent's gaze fly back to her.

"Ah, but look, Rachel! What a heroine. A vixen, red and brash as they come." He grinned, showing his teeth. "Where'd our shy little miss go off to?"

He _was_ teasing. She was sure of it.

Rachel laughed uncertainly, and Anne couldn't bear it. She ran toward the nearest exit, fleeing, lest her heart betray her.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

Vincent was smooth as they come, his hair slicked back and his clothes tidy. With a few editions of old regalia or heirlooms, he'd look as regal and noble as an earl.

Rachel's demeanor was just as poised, but she played down her expensive dress and shoes with elegant, fresh makeup. The only jewelry she bore was a silver ring with a stone as blue as her eyes.  
Their parents were tense, apprehensive. Their mother gripped the edge of her chair most tightly. "Angelina, sit with us, dear." She murmured, just before the two began that too-serious talk.

Anne looked on, and then away. "Relax, mum…"

"She's right!" Rachel chirps. "It's not as though anyone died…"

Their father cleared his throat. He continued to stare at Vincent. "Rachel, you aren't pr—"

"Daddy." She warned. "I'm not pregnant either." She scowled, but the expression couldn't tarnish her good humor. "Just listen!"

Vincent laughed, a sound full of humor and pride. "Mister and Mrs. Durless, I'm Vincent Phantomhive, attending Weston University. I'm a second year student in business and psychology." He looked at both of them evenly. "I would like your permission to formally see your daughter."

There was a moment of silence, where everyone let out their breath. The parents leaned in toward each other, their mother sighing and their father laughing with relief. "You want to _date_ Rachel." He smiled wryly. "It's a bit old-fashioned this day and age, but…" he grinned, his face tense even then.

Rachel beamed. "He's a gentleman!"

"Charmed." Mrs. Durless smiled stiffly, but there's relief there too.

Angelina knew her mother, and she knew how pleased such a good prospective husband would make her. But Anne was less than relieved. Her throat caught in her throat, and she visibly shrunk. While her sister reminded them of the friend they'd known for a handful of years, Anne sighed, excused herself, and fled.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

The boys were tall and dark in two ways: they dressed in street-goth fashion, dark indeed, and tall enough to match her, at least. She watched them from the corner of her eyes, looking as unperturbed as she knew how. The boys weren't from her school, and they weren't friends of her family, either. If her mum or dad knew…if they were around _to_ know…they'd be aghast.

One of them sauntered over, lips stretched into a smile. It made his thin face seem older, which Anne recognized in a moment, and she leaned forward.

"Hey." She searched her memory for a name, and found it. "Jay, right?"

One of the boys nodded in surprise, and they exchanged confused, weighted glances. She saw them tilt their chins, shake their heads, or shrug, and waited. Waited for them to say something, hoping they'd done well enough to remember her from the last time she came by.

_If they didn't,_ she thought darkly, _I might as well just give up._

"You coming then, Red?"

She nodded slowly, not sure if they'd passed her little test or not. They might have known she was here. They might just be responding to her look.

"So, this party…" the first one says. Jay. "Me 'n Mark thought it'd be good, you know?"

The other one—Mark—inclined his head. But his gaze was fixed on a point she didn't get. "Just come as you are." He breathed. "You dun need t' bring anything."

With a smile, Anne assents. "All right."

.

.

The party was more of a house get-together, she found. The few girls she saw lounged at too-small tables, presumably with their boyfriends, and boys talked around them. They played games of chance, or stared off into space like Mark did. One or two did so whilst striking a 'Fuck if I care' pose.

She didn't know most of the people there.

"Evening." She greeted a couple of boys around her age. She gave a tiny smile. "Anyone else thirsty? Shall I get drinks?" _Not exactly subtle,_ she thought, _But it might work._

"Sure." One of them replied. He was a tall boy with a sallow face. _Not nearly as handsome as—_

"Guinness." Someone else said roughly, and then he laughed. A chorus of a few other replies followed.

She frowned, but went to get what they asked.

When she returned, the tall boy smiled. "Michael." he introduced himself.

A girl with curly dark hair nodded, a guarded look Anne wasn't sure she trusted. "Kendra."

The third boy didn't bother giving a name. "So, was thinking about that thing," he mumbled, ignoring Anne altogether.

The girl Kendra nodded hesitantly, her dark eyes shifting once to Anne. "You wanted to go ahead with it, then? I heard Phipps was good for it."

Michael smiled apologetically at Anne. "…do you want to, uh, dance?"

She regarded him coolly, unsure if he was serious or not. "…if you want." She admitted cautiously.

"Brill." He smirked, and led her away from the strange conversation going on behind her.

She nodded, and strained her ears toward Kendra's conversation.

"They said he's a bit dodgy," the boy muttered, "but I think—"

"So, alright then? How're you finding everything?" He put his hand around her waist, and led her in a clumsy swaying that didn't quite go with the music.

She wondered if Rachel ever danced like that. Aloud, she said, "Fine."

"—snake charmer? Really?"

She looked at her would-be boyfriend, and wondered if he was worth her time.

.

"Red!"

"What?"

"You have a caller." One of the boys she hung with, Jay, held two fingers to his thigh. "You know, they need some cash…heard you had some extra?"

She didn't reply. She only went to find this 'caller,' to see who and what they might want.

Charles Phipps, a man in his early twenties, stood at ease. His attire was nicer than she remembered, and she wondered what it was Jay meant. He didn't have the look of a man who wanted for anything.

"Hello, Red." He nodded, expressionless. The nickname had stuck—and she didn't quite know where it'd started.

"What do you need?" She asked, leaning against the wall. The cool bricks were solid, reassuring.

"I heard you were good for a light." He took two steps closer. "That it was like magic when you light a fag."

She smiled. "What of it?"

He was next to her in a flash. His speed was the stuff of rumor, and she knew then he was using some kind of magic. "You need a tutor." He whispered in her ear.

Anne smiled, and nodded.

.

.  
"Red, we need you." Michael panted, running up from the side. He grabbed her hand for balance, and nearly toppled them both. "Jay is in a bad way."

"You want _me?_ " She asked, incredulous. "What can I—"

"You're planning on pre-med, aren't you? Gonna graduate soon an' everything." He babbled, and she sensed a sort of panic that she didn't like.

"So?"

"He's hurt."

Anne sighed. "…ok." She shook her head. "How bad is it?"

"Very. Just come on."

.

.

Jay couldn't have lasted long. She knew this, much later. But at the time, she held him, watched his eyes contract, and tried everything she knew. She even said the words Phipps had taught her, given him a bit of her own energy in a kiss that later, her would-be friends described as _demonic._

Her lips were red afterward.

She found a trace of powder, and the smell of spirits. Something about it reminded her of what Vincent had said, once, and she leaned in to check his pulse at the neck. His shirt was damp, and at that proximity she realized that the smell of alcohol was coming from his clothes—not his mouth.

Phipps wasn't at hand. He was gone, but she knew enough about him to suspect. Not all of what he taught her was frivolous. Some of it was heavier than she dared think.

"Why the hell did you wait?" She snapped, and lit fires above him. Tiny little balls of flame that wouldn't burn, but only warm him. "He's in shock. He needs to go to hospital. Now."

They exchanged glances, and Michael feebly asked, "Can't you do anything?"

"I tried!" she snapped.

A few minutes of useless chanting on their parts, and a lot of guess work on hers, and she thought he had him.

His eyes opened. "Hi Red." He breathed. "Found the one yet?"

She could only stare. "…Jay, hang in there…"

Michael leaned in. "You got it, didn't you? Where did you put it?"

Jay only stared, his heart beating too faintly for him to really be all there.

Anne snapped her head back. "Call the ambulance. Undertaker will sort him out."

But he died anyway.

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

Red was alone. Her games through secondary school and University only kept her away from her surviving family, and her brother-in-law.

She was about to join Phipps and his new partner—together, they were Double Charles, a partnering she didn't envy or entirely approve of. When Red dressed for the hidden world, she made certain she made an impact. She chose her dresses for form and color.

Anne almost didn't notice Vincent in the party crowd. He took in her lavish outfit, and her calm expression.

"Anne! I hardly expected to see you in this sort of company." He smiled. "How are you?"

"Fine darling, thank you. Ah. Yes. But I heard there was an opening in the Darling of Society position…and I just knew I'd like to give it a try."

Vincent laughed appreciatively. "So you know your way around then. I wonder, did you meet Baron Barnet?"

.

.  
She saw a flash of dark hair, and a crooked smile in the innermost of the Viscount of Druitt's rooms.

_Could it be…?_

He laughed, said something indistinct, but she'd know that voice anywhere. She almost called out, but there was an air to the conversation in the room that suggested she ought have kept quiet. After all, she technically wasn't even supposed to know it existed.

She curtsied to the Viscount, an elderly man. She realized that Vincent is in less than pristine company. He was surrounded by known liars, cheats, and back-stabbing businessmen. It was never the company she imagined him to keep.

At the same time, she thought, _Druitt is likely to die at any moment,_ which would leave his estate to the younger, and quite attractive, relative.

But she kept quiet, and wondered, for her sister's sake, what it is he was doing at such a place. She pushed the thought away.

.

.

Double Charles was a thorn in her side. Her old tutor Phipps, and the new playboy Grey, the two of them were an unwelcome reminder of her unstable youth. As a married woman with a promising career as a lady doctor, it wasn't something she wanted people to associate with her.

As it was, they somehow managed to corner her with a supplier for her clinic. An uncomfortable position, to be sure.

"Madam Red!" Grey chirped, giving a sweeping bow that would have been more in fashion a century ago. "Didn't know you were acquainted with Thompson here." He elbowed the supplier.

Thopson eyed her suspiciously. _As though it's my fault these idiots showed up._ She thought. "Perhaps we could talk about your requests at a later date, Dr. Durless-Barnet." He picked up his bag, and began to move away.

Phipps coughed dryly. "No need to be hasty, Thompson. Madam Red is an old friend of ours…I'm sure she wouldn't want to interrupt on our account."

Thompson's expression morphs from suspicion to surprise. "Really. A friend of yours? How do you know each other…?"

"She was a tutee of mine in the fine arts." He paused. "She carried certain goods for us, you know. When the kids needed a pick-me-up, Red was able to get it when anyone else her age would have fainted at the mention!"

Grey's smile was wicked. "A regular Fem Fatal," he joked.

"Really." Thompson's voice was low.

Madam Red's complexion was pale—her heart beat in her throat. "It wasn't anything—"

"Don't be shy now." Phipps smiled. "He can get you anything you need, our Thompson. Especially if you know where to take it."

Confused, she looked from man to man. _This isn't…he's not trying to set me up._ She decided. _What is he going for?_

"What do you say?" Thompson looked at her in a new light. "You are certainly an entrepreneur. I'd be quite pleased to help you with, say, some harder-to-get supplies. Or cut a deal that you couldn't refuse." He coughed. "Maybe help get one of your junior-doctor's names out of that malpractice lawsuit that's, ah, tying you down for the moment."

She closed her eyes. "Give me some time to think it over."

Phips raised an eyebrow. "Really, Red. What's there to think about?"

In the end, she accepts.

.

.

The doctor's words were like a death sentence, she thought. No, it was like…a bad refrain. Or a joke that she'd heard too many times.

"Just imagine. A doctor, diagnosed with _that._ "

For all the advances in modern technology, nothing could save her unborn baby. She was diagnosed with a kind of cancer that not only threatened her life, but choked out the baby's too.

Her dreams of a family were impossible.

Since then, she has had a few too many drinks, in spite of a prearranged business meeting. Her supplier graciously ignored this tiny imperfection in her demeanor, and lead her into the warehouse.

Later, she would wonder why he did that.

Then, she looked in at the row of girls, their dirty faces, their wide eyes. The man beside her was chattering about _new shipments_ and _popular girls_ this and that, just as though they were the new supply items she always looked at. That hearing the good points of one girl made her just as purchasable as black market botox.

"She looks like me, don't you think?" Madam Red interrupted with a giggle.  
She moved in, took the girl's face between her hands. "I want you."

The girl didn't meet her gaze.

Her supplier smiled. "For the night?"

"No. For nine months, I think."

He stared blankly. "Sorry?"

"Just give me this one." She snapped her fingers and started to walk away.

.

.

The girl refused.

It was as simple as that—she couldn't get her to agree. Couldn't get her to cooperate, or think of a plausible way to fool her husband. Or if she needed to fool him at all.

In a fit of anger, however, she decided that the foolish girl needed to be punished. Madam Red would have her baby. And this girl, who looked something like her, would be the one to bear it.

But the punishment went too far. But…her organs were still voluble. She took out the uterus. Sold everything that could be sold, and abandoned the body.

.

.

Tragedy called tragedy. Her husband died in an accident while she was away. Now she couldn't even have _his_ baby.

Madam Red despairs.

And Madam Red continues to do business. After all, he always said, "The clinic is our baby. We'll help the world in a big way…don't worry."

But Double Charles has a hand in too many pies. They leave London for a while, and a dark presence comes to roost.

Without someone's good word, she is alone. Helpless against threats to tear her name to pieces.

.

.

"People are talking." Vincent's voice is low. His expression is more serious than she'd seen it in an age. Since Ciel's gotten bigger, she thought he would be all smiles and cheer. Instead, he took her aside, and shook his head. "This needs to stop, Anne. I heard you were paying bribes to keep your name from leaking…so far…no one of…consequence…has heard these rumors, but it's only a matter of time, Anne. This needs to stop."

Her chin trembled, and for a moment, she looks from his mouth, to his hands, to her hands. Anywhere but his eyes. "I—" she couldn't say anything.

"We can help." Vincent's voice was low. Reassuring.

She nearly cried then. "Don't worry about me. I…"

"I promise you, Anne. We won't desert you." Reassuring, strong. Everything she wanted to hear from him.

"It's not about me!" She snapped. "Vincent, listen." Her own voice is harsh in her ears. "I know that. I know the bribes can't solve everything. But this…this thing I heard. Something terrible. About you. About your family."

He was too shocked to say anything. He only looked at her.

"You need to get out for a while…take Ciel. Take Rachel and _run._ "

OoOoOoOoO

* * *

When she found out her beloved sister was dead, she cried. When she heard Vincent, too, was disfigured- cut into pieces and scattered across the crime scene- she collapsed.

"Where's Ciel?" she whispered.

Silence answered.

She couldn't see or hear anything, but the ghostly pitter-pat of a child's feet.

That was when she went back to the warehouse to buy another girl. When this one, too, could not fulfill her request, she wails.

Takes the knife in both hands, and plunges it between the girl's ribs.

It feels like nothing she's ever done before…and the screams are terrified.

After that, it was silent again.

Then, the Reaper enters. He's a red stain in the darkness—a flash of fancy clothes and long hair.

"Well." He murmured. "Look at all this red…this lovely, beautiful red…" When he looked up, his eyes glittered. She could see his sharp teeth, and watched his delicate hands run up and down a chainsaw.

She held her breath.

"This beautiful red." He repeated. "That _you_ gave to us."

Her breath ached in her lungs. She let it out in a slow sigh. "Yes."

"I think," he admitted, "we suit each other. Wouldn't you…Madam Red…care to dance?"

She stared at him.

"…to dance the long dance. To play a game with life and all that pretty, pretty red. Don't you think we'd make a cute couple?"

She smiled, and nodded. "I have an idea."

His smile is wide, crooked, and almost enough. "Tell me all about it."

* * *

OoOoOoOoO

tbc...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbc...
> 
> A/N: this concludes the cinematic record. Next week, we will continue with Ciel, Sebastian, and Grell's confrontation.
> 
> So. I hope you liked Madam Red. I wanted to write her a chapter all her own…give her some depth. I really like strong ladies…and Madam Red is a tragic one on top of everything.
> 
> What was your impression?


	20. Picking up the pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel has been looking for answers for five years, and has had little progress. Now, with the contract's end looming over him, he's found a most uncomfortable lead. His aunt. He confronts her, and now, he must pick up the pieces.

(Ciel)

Grell Sutcliff shed his butler skin as easily as one might change clothes. He shed that skin, and I wonder how I ever dismissed the second-rate assistant as a nobody. He was just part of the furniture before, just another example of how useless human servants can be.

But with the light from the cinematic record reflecting off his hair, glinting against those glasses as he watches Madam Red, I understand. Grell was never human. He agreed to serve my aunt on a whim. They carried out murders and reveled in the blood on their hands. He didn't love her—he probably didn't even know her. She was like a doll, discarded or destroyed the moment he loses interest. This moment.

 _It's better that she's dead._ part of me howls. My chest burns with pent up emotion, despair and anger fighting for dominance. I wish I never knew, wish she was just my flamboyant aunt, fragile like my mother, but with a sharp tongue.

I stare at the record, unable to look away.

But instead of watching it to the very end—from where I was found again, to their string of bloody murders. To the messy _after_ of my kidnapping, when I refuse her offer of shelter—it all stops. Sebastian did something unexpected.

Sebastian feints at Grell, makes the Reaper take a few steps back and into the ray of light. The record is cut. The memories stop.

Grell sneers. "What are—"

Sebastian lunges forward, the dark blood glinting faintly in the moonlight coming through a high window.

Neither look as my aunt's body hits the ground.

Grell grins maniacally, and leaps into the air, the chainsaw held high. No, Grell never was human, but he's not a demon, either. He may match (or beat) my Sebastian in insanity, but no one schemes like Sebastian can. They both pull their hands back, as though to throw a punch—but at the last moment, Sebastian thrusts his jacket.

The chainsaw makes a ripping, roaring noise, but then stops.

Sebastian smiles, and seizes the opening. "It's stopped. You see, Sutcliff, your weapon may cut anything with ease when it rotates, but if it gets caught on something? It stops." Sebastian sighs deeply. "I didn't want to use my jacket, but it was necessary."

His footsteps make clacking noises against the cement floor.

The reaper clutches at his Death Scythe, and slowly sinks to his knees. He seems more shocked and overwhelmed by the sudden loss of his chief advantage than by the death of Madam Red.

"Ah, and look how defenseless you are. You know what I'm going to do." Sebastian voice is deep, purring. One strong blow to Grell's face, and he can easily take possession of the Death Scythe. "I'll take that, thank you."

But a long metal claw stops Sebastian's hand. A pruning pole?

Another voice cuts the night. "Grell Sutcliff." Another man in a suit, similar to Ronald's in form and cut, takes the Reaper by the collar before Sebastian can do anything else.

Instead of moving, Sebastian smiles lightly. "Good evening, Will."

Will ignores the greeting. "You are hereby charged with misuse of a Death Scythe, and thus put on probation." He takes the chainsaw in one hand, and does something to it with a quick, three-fingered gesture. Something _pops_ , clatters, and whizzes by. When I look again, the weapon is dangling from Will's strange device.

"Report immediately to the office." There is no arguing with that impersonal order.

What is this—some sort of internal investigation for Reapers? Who would have thought that they dealt with death like a human company?

Grell's expression is near wild. "Will. I need to finish—"

"Go. Now." Will looks away from Grell, clearly dismissing him as a threat. He eyes my aunt's body, and then his gaze flits back to Sebastian, and then to me. "That demon has the boy's soul in a contract."

I lift my chin, unwilling to admit we are backed into a corner. With Sebastian wounded and this newcomer wielding both Death Scythes, I don't know how good our chances are.

"We need to—" Grell whines.

"Ciel Phantomhive is not on anyone's list tonight. Enough. You're leaving _now._ "

They leave in a flutter of fabric, and the silence is heavy in my ears.

Left alone with Sebastian, and with no answers. Only questions, and more questions. I can't say I hadn't thought of…her…dying. But it leaves me feeling no less hallow.

Alone in the building, I stare at my aunt's body.

"Call Undertaker."

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

I'm writing about my aunt. Or trying to. The pen is barely noticeable in my hand, but if I don't do it now, I'll forget…and I've forgotten too much of my family already. What comes out is a surprise…instead of the terse, businesslike description I planned on, a loose kind of verse unwinds itself.

.

The taste of sadness cannot properly be described. Hanging on the edge of my teeth, chilling and numbing to the bone. It sinks. It lingers (like a ghost of

a smell, trapped between fiber), and it smells of decay.

Undertaker knows these things, and he lays her in a bed of lilies. The strong scent covers most things. She is lighter, paler than she was ever before.  
And yet there it sits (melancholy, deep rooted) on the back of my tongue, ready to be swallowed and swept into my blood.

Blood, family lost. A church too quiet and stifling for her. She knew it, I think. Saw the bones of it (this final plan), and mourned. Mourned the display of pristine, white

Lies

She scorned (it. me.)

I can almost feel her fingers on my brow as I tread the aisle, alone. To her side. The eyes on me are sorry, sad things, heavy weights on my shoulders. The dress, a brilliant, fiery red, is heavier still.

Undertaker's chuckle fills me with dread. How can he laugh? _His_ nails would dig cruelly into my wrists.

.  
(I put my pen down. Think a while, and finally pick it up again.)

.  
The secrets of her past are woven into her name, I see. _Madam Red,_ Angelina.  
An angel mad with vengeance (toward a life she never professed to love, but lived with _passion._ ). A red fox. A vixen.

I would undo her fixed jaw, the tiny implements of lifelike beauty Undertaker revels in giving to corpses. Instead, I address her softly.

"White never suited you."

Somewhere, Sebastian would have laughed.

.

I put the pen down, and wish.


	21. his master, learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Ciel managed to stay out of the Reaper's clutches, and the funeral passed with little incident. Now, Ciel is forced to confront dwindling resources, time...and Sebastian.

I can't talk about anything.

None of my friends will meet my gaze. I feel like there's a permanent stain on my hands, or a splatter of something across my face. Something hot, sticky, and pungent.

I wipe at my cheeks.

Sebastian comes up from behind. He comes in close, resting his weight on me for an instant. Then he pulls my shoulders back, settling my weight in a less strained way.

I lean against him.

"It was what she wanted," Sebastian breathes.

"Huh," I mutter.

"You did a good deed for the murderess…buried her like family," he smiles, and pets my cheek.

I can't say anything. My aunt's body is lying in a crumpled heap in my memory. Grief and helplessness fight within my bones, making my lungs tighten. The sudden difficulty in _breathing_ seems like an ill omen.

But more than the grief that's been eating at me for days, annoyance creeps in. Makes my jaw tighten and my eyes sharpen on the source of it. "Sebastian," I mutter. "Shut up."

Sebastian laughs cruelly. He never looks more delighted than when he wallows in another emotional upheaval. Looking down like a raven from on high, his eyes meet mine. That he is so pleased by my mood is not helping things. "Why didn't you kill her? I know you had a gun concealed..." He appears nearly expressionless, if a little questioning. "You killed Stone for less offense."

But the lack of company for _days_ is eating at me. And again, I only have so many weeks to find the answer to the puzzle…else Sebastian will have captured my chess-pieces once and for all. I suppose it's this expression that spurs him on.

"Tell me why you didn't shoot her. Were you planning on getting information from her? Capturing her, after that Reaper was dealt with?" His eyes narrow, and I think that perhaps Sebastian understands less about humans than he thinks. He may think he understands everything about humans desires, but he is puzzled by my own motivation.

Does he think it was familiar bonds? Loyalty? Love? I scoff. My own expression is bitter, calculating. The time left in this contract is dwindling to weeks. I will die at seventeen, but I can say that I understand more about demons and humanity than Sebastian may. Ageless, nearly immortal Sebastian, with his bloody Secret Name and secret past, does not understand motivation.

"I would have asked her. She might have told me, if you had successfully dealt with Grell." I glare at the floor, and what little I can see of his shoes. "It was your job to see that Grell didn't kill me. I didn't really need the gun at all." I lift my chin. "A demon wouldn't understand such things as loyalty or love." I lean against him, closing my eyes, pondering the situation as I speak. "Guilt maybe. She would have felt those things, and wanted to unburden her sins to someone. If she had lived..."

I stop. Anger has made my tongue loose. There's no benefit in telling Sebastian.

"Yes, you might have a ghost of a trail to work with. The sordid connections of your aunt may yet be related to those that killed your family. A pity you don't have time to hunt them out."

I wriggle out of his grasp, turning around to face him. When I look up into his scarlet eyes, I can't stop the words from pouring out. "But it isn't over yet. I have until after my birthday...until that day, you will serve me."

I've never sounded so desperate in my own ears. But anger makes me shake, makes my hands clench.

"Never leave me, never betray me." I push away then, stepping so that I can look at him without craning my neck.

Sebastian says nothing for a moment, smiling his soft, sardonic smile. He starts to bow, so neatly and arrogantly, and his coolness brings out a feeling in me that I had nearly forgotten since that night. Since my aunt died.

Hot anger makes my muscles rigid. I bring up my hand, and smack Sebastian in the face.

He looks mildly surprised.

"You overstep yourself. Our contract isn't over yet..."

Sebastian brings his hand to his heart and bows, finally uttering the "Yes, my lord." That's been on his lips since earlier. That phrase he _knows_ annoys me.

"We have things to do." I inform him. "Assist me, Sebastian."

The next few hours, he helps me straighten my flat. I order him to deal with any evidence that might link Stone with me, and for him to file all the new information we have gained from my aunt. I won't be foolish enough to burn it just to save her reputation. The dead don't need to worry about reputation.

I won't need to worry...

Sebastian's hand on my shoulder brings my attention back to the present. "Would you care for tea, young master?" His lips curve up. He doesn't remove his hand; instead, he gently rubs the back of my neck.

"Stop calling me that."

Something about the whole array of incidents, of the rise and fall of our banter reminds me of something. Reminds me of that time I talked to Alois in the hospital.

__"Sugar him up a bit. Make him adore you. He'll tell you himself if you can play him right." he insisted.__

__

_I coughed as I tried for scorn. "You must be joking. He's a demon. Romance and flowers will hardly work."_

__Alois laughed. The sound was not pleasant. "Have you seen him around you? He's already halfway there."_ _

My breath catches. Could it be that Alois was right? Sebastian has seemed...since Stone...he's been...softer. Or if not quite soft, than more readily at hand. Like the friend I wanted to confide in, or…

…a would-be lover?

…no. Definitely not. He's…

I turn away. "I'm busy. I need to figure this out." I gesture vaguely at the room. "There's too much to do."

Sebastian murmurs something about bringing a neat little pastry and tea in a thermos, then. Something that I was only barely paying attention to. Rather than the mystery of _him_ , I'd rather work on a concrete puzzle.

The book sits on my desk like a sentry. If books could gloat or mock, this one would. Its presence is like a person one doesn't know well, standing over one's shoulder. It's been there since the days after the Viscount's ill-ended party, but I moved it to my desk. It is a tempting puzzle...

I run my fingers over the expensive leather binding, wondering what secrets it contains. But the pages will not open. It's almost like they were glued together, or locked somehow. I take it between my hands and begin to pry.

From the kitchen, I hear a quiet rustle and the chink of china. A few moments later, he has passed through the door, bearing an old silver tray he's polished to shine. On it, he's arranged that thermos, and a pretty serving of cake. It's a black cherry and chocolate affair, tiny decorative ribbons of cream and glaze. Not exactly what I'd call _neat_ myself, but it looks delicious.

"My, but what's this? Is that little book still troubling you?" Sebastian stands attentive on to the side. A smile plays at his lips.

I drop the book hurriedly. "I'm trying to open it. I might as well find out more about that Viscount…I grabbed the book for a reason." As if I thought it more than a useful distraction. A toy for my last weeks.

Sebastian makes a disbelieving "hmm" in the back of his throat, and begins to walk about the room, dusting and polishing the surfaces with ease.

I watch him expertly walk from corner to corner, turning down my blankets, and opening the window. He doesn't bother to move at a normal speed after that, zipping around with a polishing cloth and another tightly woven cloth. Unlike Mei-Rin's dusting, no clouds of dust fill the air, but the surfaces are merely…clearer. He's finished in the time it takes me to arrange the tray of sweets. Sebastian steps out of the room, and when he returns, he has a book of his own.

The ease of which he opens it seems to highlight the difficulty I have with my own book. Sitting on a stool near my desk, he has the nerve to open it before me.

I sneak a glance at the title and roll my eyes "Managing Asthma with Pets." Ignoring his antics, I get down on the floor. I decide to make a chalk circle on the floorboards, fussing with an improvised compass.

The sound of turning pages accompanies the sound of my chalk on the floorboards. If Sebastian disproves my messing right after he finished dusting, he doesn't say anything.

I run my fingers over the book, and finger the primed leather. It shouldn't be this difficult to open a _book_. I rub at my eye patch, wondering if the contract symbol will reveal some hint of the magic on it.

"What's bothering you, Ciel?" Sebastian asks says politely.

"This stupid book. I can't open it." I lift my eye patch. I frown. I can see no hint of it's binding this way. But it feels…lighter. Or maybe…transient? Not quite here, where it should be.

"Why?" Sebastian teases. Or maybe he genuinely doesn't know why I can't manage.

I sigh in exasperation. "It's spelled shut! I can't open it." I gesture at the circle on the floor, indicating that I intend to use it. Even though I haven't the faintest idea how a circle would help open this particular book.

Sebastian sets his own book down. The soles of his shoes clack, and stop just at the edge of the circle. He bends at the waist to better look me in the eye. "Let me see your little book. You can learn a few spells this way…or you can hide it from me, learn nothing, and I will know only how stubborn you are. Neither of us profits."

I look down at my own fruitless attempts, considering the offer. Which is better? Mucking about with unknown magic, or reading the spells of my enemy? The decision is easy. I hand him the book.

* * *

oOoOoOoOoO

(Sebastian)

The book of spells that has held my master's attention for the better part of the day weighs little more than a bag of flour. It is of little interest to me, and truthfully, the spell that binds it is a trifle. There is no dark magic here, only tricks and puzzles locking it from him. A puzzle that he has not yet learned to see.

I doubt the insides are much better, likely to be written in riddles or vague poetic nonsense, but it will please Ciel. I turn the thing over in my hands and examine the spine. The leather is not as old as the pages; it's been newly bound, and strung together with what I assume to be a straightforward, no-nonsense charm. I stroke the book with two fingers before removing my glove. A pentagram seems to be the weak spot...I trace a long black nail over the pentagram, triggering the book to open.

The pages ripple and shutter with the force of the spell shattering and seems to open at random. I hand the book to Ciel with a bow.

He takes it eagerly, like a child offered a favorite sweet. Ciel greedily clutches the book and sets it on the table, ready to devour its knowledge. Perhaps because he never was one to believe in fate or destiny, the child flips through the book, unwilling to read the first pages shown to him. "...you opened it." he smiles at me.

"Of course." I cast a glance toward his patchy circle, wondering what sort of chance he'd have taken to open this…spell diary. "What kind of an assistant would I be, could I not do this?"

Ciel pours over the book between dainty bites of cake, careful not to spill crumbs on the volume. He glances over spells that profess the ability to grant invisibility, spells to enhance the power of a man-made weapon and spells claiming to call up the voices of the dead. He stops at the spell that details how to take energy from another person and marks it for later study. This is, undoubtedly, the disaster that Druitt began at that party…the question is…what did he do with the energy he collected?

I can see Ciel's attention curl around the puzzle, setting it to one side as he contemplates the contents. I settle back down with my book, resigned to cleaning the floor when Ciel deigns to leave the study.

A glance out the window shows signs of snow. The sky is gray, and the temperature falls with each passing day. We near the end of the Contract. I wonder with a sense of dissatisfaction if once every year for sixty- six years would have been preferable. Watching from afar, guiding and coaxing his soul to delectability from the shadows. Six years seems little more than the turning of a season.

I watch his slender shoulders curve, watch his feet restlessly kick under the desk he is only recently tall enough to sit in comfortably. I think of the soul housed there, and wonder at its taste.

What does it matter, watching from close or afar? I will obey his command until the time comes. No matter how he soils his hands, how he slowly abandons his childish charms, I will stay by his side.

Ciel shifts. His fingers have stopped on a heading from the latter half. _Calling the wind._ He stands up, and makes a beeline for the window.

Ciel leans out the window, quiet at last. He speaks the words printed on the page, and effortlessly allows his mind to wander out. The spark of light around his contract-sign flickers in and out, and the call is completed.

"Lizzy…" he calls.

The wind, in answer, is soft and childish. There's little resemblance to the girl of that name, but I recognize her from a few of Ciel's spontaneous outings. A girl who I thought was a lost connection to his past, but may have been something more after all.

"Did you find his name?" The wind-spirit is light and ethereal. A fae thing with little thought to the consequences of such questions. A spirit that will not last a millennia, I should say.

"No." Ciel is quiet a moment, and the wind caresses his cheek. Strands of hair whip around his face. "His name is still a secret to me..."

She murmurs something between a sympathetic coo and a sigh. "But you know him so well."

Ciel says nothing.

"…when will we have tea again?" She chirps.

Ah. So it _was_ this girl. Did Ciel call her unconsciously, or does she care enough to find him on her own?

Ciel's voice is hesitant. "I'm afraid I don't have time. This will be the last time we talk..." he looks down, casting his gaze over the wintry scene.

"I'm sorry..."

I turn away. There is nothing to be gleaned here. Let them have their private words, their foolish schemes. I go back to my book.

.

After finishing the volume, I get up to clean the rest of the flat while Ciel is not free to get in my way. _Let me see, the silverware needs polishing, and I believe the hem of Ciel's trousers needs to be let down…_

Ciel glances up when I walk down the corridor. He stands before my own bedroom door.

Scarcely a half hour after Ciel has the book open, he's already trying his hand at a spell. I frown, hoping that he's not foolish enough to try one of the more advanced ones…cleaning up the wreckage of a badly cast spell would waste all my cleaning efforts.

"What are you doing?" I ask carefully.

"I locked your door. Now I'm going to open it…" Ciel says.

I raise an eyebrow, but Ciel pays me no mind. His boyish actions remind me of our first days together, when each of us tested the other's limits. Ciel murmurs the words, and makes an unlocking motion with a finger. He looks less careless, less mischievous than determined. His eyes shine with triumph, as the door swings open.

I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. _The kittens are not in my room today…_ It is a good thing they are prowling the streets at the moment.

Ciel sneezes and I smile.


	22. Stalemate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Ciel talk about Ciel's commitments. And Ciel confronts Alois about that spell that caused Madam Red to see his contract eye...

**Chapter 22** : _stalemate_

"I'm telling you, I'll get someone on the job. Finnian can handle it." Ciel is slumped over his desk, leaning his head into his phone most reluctantly. He taps his fingers, shifts his weight. "The boss is on a bigger case. No, he can't be talked out of it…Yes, sir. I'll do that. By tomorrow, right? You'll get a message." He sets his phone down.

"Did you turn down another job? A pity. You haven't made any headway here…." I watch him rustle through his stack of papers, searching for something he might have overlooked over the past five years. "And hiding behind your insignificant information boy to boot...Is being the boss inconvenient at this time? My my, how your fragile your nerves must be."

I'm rewarded with a direct look. A glare, to be precise. I chuckle

"...I'm not their dog." Ciel's fringe hides his eyes, but the way he clinches his fist, the way he never fails to watch my every move does little to disguise his helpless anger.

I step closer to offer a hand. "Shall I re-file the cases? They seem to be out of order…"

"No. I organized them based on importance. This is fine." His pale fingers brush a post it note, and his eyes stray to his laptop.

Ciel has always preferred to be kept involved in every affair. Perhaps he doesn't trust me to keep him fully informed, or to execute each task to his high expectations. _Ahh, that persistent suspicion and mistrust makes him all the more tantalizing._ I reach out to massage his tense shoulders. "Would you like more information about Madam Red's situation? We could look into the case he was working on and into her contacts just prior to the incident."

"That case," Ciel says between his teeth, "is closed. Finished. You already looked into it." His brilliant cerulean blue and violet eyes bore into me. "Unless you mean to say you _didn't_ look into it with your best efforts?"

I expected another glare, sharp words or to be ignored. Instead, Ciel fixes me with his most perfected technique. He smiles at me, laughs without scorn. "It's my seventeenth birthday tomorrow, Sebastian. Did you get me something nice? Of course I don't want to be running around for some lowlife gang leader." He sniffs with disdain.

"And what little case did they want to send you on then? Another message to a rival gang?" I don't bother to disguise my disinterest. "Building trust with the crime lords only brought you so far. What new trick will you show me next, little master?"

Ciel turns his cheek. His voice is soft, controlled. "It can't be helped. The crime lords change with time…the face they show is different, the leader goes in and out of favor. So I need _time_ and luck to get anything from them."

"Time? Yes," I breathe slowly. "Time. Work with what you have, little master. Begging your pardon, but these crime lords seem to get more use out of you than you them. They don't even know what you're looking for. You're not in a favorable enough position to be told information of importance."

Ciel taps his bloodless fingers, his lips thin. "They expect little of me. They don't consider me a threat. That is an advantage a 'favorable position' can't match."

I step back into his space, and gently touch his back. When he doesn't flinch away, I touch the knotted muscle from his neck to his shoulders, and rub in small, firm circles.

I find myself looking off, too. I drop my hands, and move to shutter the window. Perhaps the light has bothered Ciel's eyes.

When I look back, Ciel sighs, but his cheeks are flushed. The way he holds his shoulders, the tilt of his chin…he looks thwarted at last. But he doesn't shout. He doesn't order me away to spite me. He merely gazes out the now-shut window, unperturbed.

The silence stretches between us like a heavy fog.

Ciel steals a glance at me, but doesn't lean away from my massage. "So you think it's a mistake? My position in the underworld..." Unlike other masters I have served, his tone is not dangerous, not threatening. He will not anger even if my reply is negative.

That is the arrogance of the Phantomhive child. He trusts his own actions, puts faith in his own abilities. After all, even in a minor position, he can achieve great results merely by issuing an order. He trusts me to make his way in the world, to shield him from mistakes.

"So, how does your truancy build trust with the crime lords? What shall you do in your last days? Dye your wings black, blend with the trash of the city…"  
Reluctant to let the silence continue, I goad him once more.

Ciel stiffens slightly. His lips pressed thin, he looks up at me and removes the cloth eye patch he has taken to wearing again. Since his contacts broke that day, he has returned to the leather trimming, and a soft piece of gauze hides his contract-eye.

"Is that what you think?" he is again a tiny lord, not a half-grown underling. "No. I will garb myself in somber velvet and walk among night _kings._ " Ciel retorts. As ever, his voice is soft. "They weren't killed by _trash._ "

The ghost of his parents lingers between us like a broken contract. He has yet to take vengeance.

"My, but what would your parents say…either way, you are corrupt."

Ciel visibly starts. "You have no right-"

"—to say what you've been thinking all morning." I smile.

Ciel stands up, shrugging out of my massage. His cool arrogance has left him, and his heart flutters raggedly. He was more deeply affected by this than he wants to admit. I smile.

He glances sightlessly around the room, and clumsily makes for his jacket. "I'm going out." He mutters.

"By all means. Perhaps young Alois could assist you? You could put those limericks and cantrips to good use…" I say slowly, each word expressing my doubt. We both know he's running.

Ciel stares at me for a moment, watching me through narrowed eyes. He breathes sharply, a note of disgust and irritation too heavy for his usual manner. He turns sharply on his heel, and storms out.

The boy rushes out of the flat, and the door rattles in its frame. His pride and helpless frustration forcing him to confront the underlying issue. He will not have his revenge at this rate. That tragedy alone will make his soul all the more delectable...

I pause at the top of the shared staircase to lock the door.

A bit of noise echoes from below, and I look just soon enough to see his neighbor stick his head out of the door like a chipmunk. Soma Kadar, I believe it was, the dark haired boy of Indian descent, questionable nationality.

Soma pauses, leaning against the door hesitantly. Even he must sense Cell's conflicting emotions. He will watch his neighbor go, and perhaps remember the other's anxiety when everything is done. "Hey Ciel!" Soma's face splits into a grin. "I haven't seen you in a while!" the young man chirps.

From inside his part of the flat, I hear the bigger man's footsteps. It was the bodyguard who pulled Soma back, the one disguised as a personal servant, an assistant in many things. I suspect he was giving Soma 'advice' about not verbally assaulting his neighbors.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Phantomhive. Were you leaving? Don't let my master delay you..." Agni looks appropriately regretful at his young charge's lack of common sense and empathy.

Ciel edges away from Soma, and I slowly walk down the stairs.

Soma's eyes are bright with expectation. "Were you sick? Hey, you wanna play video games with me and Finny?" Soma continues. He looks like a concerned pup, but his excitement at the possibility of playing overwhelms any softer inclinations he might have had.

Ciel looks at Soma blankly. "Oh. I don't know."

_Where has that stubborn fire gone to? Already he's absorbed in his thoughts..._ Goading him only seems to get a short reaction, and no plan. I sigh.

Soma elbows his way out of the door, beyond Agni's cloying reach. "Where are you going?" He watches Ciel's back as the boy heads for the front door. "Ne!"

"Nowhere, Soma."

"Please excuse us," I give the pair a bow, doggedly keeping to Ciel's heals. He shall not escape my presence even for a short time...not now. Not at the end.

* * *

oOoOoOo

"Sebastian, you'll make tea, won't you? I just love your brew…" Alois smiles, gesturing vaguely to the kitchen. "I got some fancy stuff just for when you two come over." Those cunning green eyes watch me, making sure I step aside.

Alois has moved since we last visited him. Perhaps he found the attention of his neighbors tiresome. Nevertheless, the new high class flat has just as much security as human knowledge can provide.

I make just enough noise to keep Alois and Ciel from forgetting about me. The two have plotted enough these past months…

In the sitting room, Ciel and Alois make small talk. Like most of their games, they speak about trivial things first. They pretend as though neither is there for benefit, but for mutual companionship and pleasure. The constricting rules of English upper class leaves their conversation shallow, and stilted until they abandon the pretense.

"I've been so busy,"Alois drawls. "I swear, if my schedule were any more full, I'd scarcely have time for a social life."

I can practically see Ciel, nodding sympathetically. The little liar enjoys acting like he cares. "Perhaps you can find time with the new year."

Finished with the preparations, I bring the dishes into their sitting room.

Alois preens before Ciel, as though he expects to be complemented on keeping all those engagements straight, or perhaps congratulated on the sheer number of clients. I set a china cup and desert plate before each boy.

"You'd be shocked to hear what I know about some of London's finest..."

Ciel waves that comment aside. He frowns stiffly, where once he would have leaned in, pressed for details. "Most secrets aren't worth the keeping." He picks up the spoon. "I'm not buying information today, Alois."

Alois, stiffening, also takes his china cup in hand.

Ciel clears his throat awkwardly, and then gestures for his bag. "I just...thought of you when I came across this book in...my aunt's library."

Scarcely  
served their tea, and already he mentions his book. The short lived truly are impatient.

"What is that?" Alois fidgets in his seat, clearly intrigued. "Your _aunt's_ Library?"

Ciel smirks. "Yes."

The liar.

"Let's see this book then." Alois glances at me, but quickly averts his gaze.

Ciel's pink tongue cleans the whipped cream off his spoon. He angles for another bite. "…but then, you don't seem to have the knowledge necessary for when to use a spell…so. I didn't bring it."

Alois puts his own utensil down. His jaw snaps shut, and shoots Ciel a glare. Clearly agitated, Alois is silent for a long moment. "What do you mean by that?"

_And so the hound closes in on the fox…_

"What was that spell, Alois?" Ciel's voice is dark and dangerous.

"What spell?" His protest dies in his mouth at Ciel's venomous look. "That spell—it was nothing. Just a charm. For light!"

Ciel says nothing, letting Alois dig his own grave.

"You—you must have done it wrong." Alois' breath is uneven. His posture is too tense for him to be taking this easily. "I only wanted to help you. You…you don't know what you're saying. Of course it isn't _my_ fault."

Ciel watches from across the cakes, his visible eye wide and filled with false innocence. But then, that is a true accusation, isn't it? Ciel says nothing, considering the other boy as he sips his tea. This is how he plans to punish Alois.

Alois finally stills his tongue. "Why is _he_ here?" he spits. He glares at me, not quite demanding I leave.

I look down my nose at the petite blond. He may have discovered our contract, but he will never understand it. He is still the spoilt creature rescued from his rich patron. Clinging to Ciel because he sees something enviable in the contract, but hating him because of our bond.

To put it simply, he is jealous.

He never will get over feeling helpless and weak...Even surrounded by willing, fawning patrons he feels as though they—Ciel— look down on him. He is dirty, undesirable in his own eyes.

_Poor child._ My lip twitches.

"Sebastian is my personal assistant." Ciel says coolly. "Why shouldn't he be?"

"…perhaps there is nothing to be found here after all…" I murmur. "Failed charms or ineffective wards are of little consequence, young master."

Always quick to anger, the little spy drops all pretense of civility. His coarser speech slips out, and the china clatters when he raises his fist. "What do you mean?"

I smile at him.

"You lead him around by the nose." He accuses. "I _know_ what you are. He's going to leave you, Ciel, he's going to leave you high an' dry, with no way of ever saving yourself."

Ciel scoffs. "Hardly. Alois. Speak again when your head has cooled."

Alois sneers. "This is what you get, Ciel, when you let him rule you." The brat doesn't understand his own words, doesn't grasp the entirety of the situation. But then, how could he, when he has never formed a contract? Even Ciel...

When Ciel _still_ doesn't respond, Alois takes to his feet, upsetting the table and sloshing tea. "Just look at him! He doesn't care about you, and he doesn't care about your dead aunt. Whatever he promised you Ciel, it better be worth it. Because you'll never get more than the bare minimum from something like _that_. He won't fulfill the promise just to spite you, just to see you suffer." The words pour from his mouth like so much garbage. "And you! You're trying to make this my fault. Like my little spell cost your precious aunt her life. Don't put that on me, Ciel Phantomhive."

Ciel meets Alois' gaze. He, too, stands. "No. Madam Red died because of her mistakes." His voice is remarkably steady, though cold. As though he and Alois never exchanged smiles.

Ah, how brave. Or how foolish, to bring the discussion out on such uncertain grounds…he knows not what will come back to haunt him. The Prince and the Pauper stare each other down.

"…is that all you have to say?" Alois has calmed somewhat, but that passion lurks behind his eyes, just out of reach. His hands clench. "…then answer this. What is family to you? Just another… _source_ of information?" Alois sneers.

I look on with a connoisseurs' eye. Alois's soul shimmers in his eyes, the memory of his brother is so strong. Such possessive love...it warps his soul in an interesting pattern.

"Family is more to me than you know." Ciel says softly. His gaze his hard.

"What?" Alois throws his hands up. "What?" He glares at me as well. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, Ciel. It's not just customer's secrets that I know."

Ciel sighs. "Forget it, Alois. Just tell me about that spell. How was it supposed to work?"

Alois laughs bitterly. "And now you want to play best friends? Don't mock me. You think just because I don't have my own contract I won't go head to head with you?"

"No one's fighting." Ciel sniffs, and finally deigns get to his feet. "I just asked a question—"

"Like hell you did. You think—"

"—stop telling me what I think!"

"—the whole world will just—"

"Listen!" Ciel unconsciously guards his contract sign. "Stop arguing and—"

"No. I'm done with this." Alois' anger has lit new fires behind his eyes, and he barely can get out the niceties. He looks wildly around the room, fingers biting into the pale, soft skin of his palms.

Ciel nods stiffly. "Good bye, then. I suppose…" he looks at his feet. "I was glad to have met you."

Alois shakes his head. No more words come. He follows Ciel and I out of the flat, and in his soft clothes and shoeless—neither Ciel nor Alois seem to have noticed—makes his way through the city.

And into the forest,

where he whispers, _my fairy waits._

* * *

o0o0o0o0


	23. wishes and wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel has a scant few weeks before his contract is up and Sebastian takes his dues. It's Ciel's birthday, but his friends can't quite cheer him up.

Chapter 23: wishes and wants  
(Sebastian)

The kitten wails, its tiny voice filled with pride and anger unknown to human whining. 

“Hush, hush,” I murmur, pressing one finger to its little nose. Simultaneously, an older specimen of beauty and poise rubs against my feet. “Now,” I look at the sweet thing. “Quiet, or Ciel will—”

In his study-bedroom, Ciel sneezes twice, and coughs lightly. He stirs in his oversized chair. Ciel's door opens. His soft footsteps approach my door. Quickly, I gather the cat and kitten into my arms and pull open my wardrobe. Both cats are deposited, and the wardrobe door securely shut just as he opens my door.

"Sebastian, I heard a cat," Ciel says. His eyes water and he sneezes as if to prove his point.

I smile thinly. “Are your allergies giving you troubles?”

He closes his eyes. “Hm. You might say that.” He sighs, and levels me with a serious glare. “How many times have I told you, I don't want cats in my flat!” 

“Cats, young master?” I step away, hoping to draw his attention from the cat’s hiding place.

“Open your wardrobe, Sebastian. That’s an order.”

Children can be so temperamental. I sigh and obey. The wardrobe shakes a bit, and the little kitten, a tiny ball against the wood paneling, squints and mewls again. The older cat, perhaps annoyed at being treated so inelegantly, hisses.

I move very quickly, tuck the kitten in my pocket, so as to drop my poor darling out the window before Ciel’s human eyes can register their presence. If he isn’t sure they were there to begin with, perhaps he won’t order them out...

He examines my room, perhaps looking for some small sign of my kitten. He wheezes, and visibly struggles for breath.

“You just dropped something out the window.” Ciel’s voice is filled with disbelief. “ _What_ did you just do. You’re _not_ going to get me charged for cruelty to animals _on my birthday—_ ”

“Worried about being arrested? Whatever are you talking about, Ciel?” I pat him on the shoulder and steer him towards the door. “Shouldn't you be heading downstairs, if you’re finished sulking in your room?”

He scowls. “Wipe that smile off your face,” Ciel gripes. “Downstairs? To Soma’s flat? And I’m not going down stairs if there's anyone there. They’ll think a bloody flight of stairs winded me.”

Far too clever to be surprised by a simple party on his birthday, he already seems to have guessed that more than just Soma and Agni will meet him there. Predictable or not, however, he may still enjoy the celebration. 

I pat him on the back again and retrieve his rescue inhaler. “A few minutes, then? You can’t hide up here forever... I’d get bored.”

Ciel’s lips twitch, and he eventually follows me down.

Lights have been added to the walls. Fairy lights that wink off and on like mechanical stars. The ambiance is pleasing, especially when we toned the lights down and added a few flower arrangements. I fixed a banner to the tops of the windows, and as the sun sets, it turns the paper into something like stained glass. 

Ah, that Ciel’s room should bear resemblance to a church feature is the height of irony. I wonder if it reminds him of his aunt’s recent funeral…or his own eventual last rite.

 _Happy birthday_ , the banner reads.

“Looks nice, don’t it?” Bard’s puffed up like a proud sparrow. He could spring to action at a moment’s notice. 

“We helped with decorations!” Finnian grins, jabbing his finger at a paper chain. Their hands were indeed in the making of this. There’s no small amount of sweat and blood in the bits they managed to claim. 

Ciel, having been holed up in his room for most of the preparations, likely didn’t hear much of it. As a result, his lips part in quiet wonder. Ah, but how beautiful, those eyes. One behind a thin gauze wrapping, one glazed in reflection. 

Finnian smiles. “Great, isn’t it?”

“Ah.” He touches one.

“Ciel!” Mei-Rin chirps. “We got these neat tumblers! Mister Sebastian picked them out.” She promptly drops one of them, being the fool she is. “Whoops!”

The boys look from each other to Ciel, foolish smiles lighting their faces. Before they realize anything has dropped, I have the glass in my hand. I give it to Ciel. 

“A cat tumbler.” I detect a ghost of a smile on Ciel’s wondering face. 

Mei-Rin bows repeatedly. “I’m so sorry!” she wails. 

All things considered, the party is milder than I would have anticipated. Ciel wanders about the flat, touching new decorations with a noble’s hands, uncalloused by work. He may be an artisan, but the simplest kinds of labor still surprise him.

“Happy Birthday!” Soma grins. His white teeth contrast beautifully against his tanned skin. In another age, tempting his childish, pure soul would have been a pleasing challenge. 

“We wish for your continued health and safety.” Agni presses his hands together and then bows.

Ciel nods and reluctantly submits to Soma’s overly-enthusiastic hug. “Thanks.” 

“I asked Sebastian what you’d like for a present, but he said you’d rather not have anything, and I thought that’d be really sad, so here!” He thrusts a gift-bag to Ciel. “It’s an original plush toy by a family with your last name. It’s a teddy bear from the Victorian Era. I saw that bunny you made, and-” he continues rambling, though I don’t bother to listen to the rest. 

I take the gift, seeing that Ciel makes no move to accept it, and is instead staring like a silly child. “How thoughtful,” I compliment their choice.

A _meow_ radiates from my pocket. I press one finger under its jaw to quiet it.

Agni smiles, looking satisfied. I wonder what lengths he went through to procure such a toy?

Ciel, suddenly filled with energy, snatches the small thing from the tissue paper. It turns out to be a simple toy, dusty with age and faded in color, but the making was strong enough to last. He pets the fabric, deftly checks the foot-pads and inner-stitching, and smoothes a loose string. His composure nearly breaks. He closes his eyes and gives a shuddering breath. 

“…was it…” Soma’s voice is small. “…the wrong…”

Agni touches the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get them a nice drink? Warm spiced cider sounds lovely this time of year. Or perhaps some Chai?” He leads Soma away.

I smile thinly, impressed again by his ability to manage the Indian-American boy. I nod my thanks, and direct my trembling charge to a chair.

Ciel bends over the little bear, and breathes deeply. His hands clutch at it, and his hair covers his eyes. Surprise and nerves (how many other boys would be more afraid?), and it’s made him anxious and unstable. 

I remove one glove to check his temperature. His neck is warm and a touch clammy. “All this stress,” I speak near his ear, indulging in the heady aura of defiance, fear, and despair, “is getting to you, young lord. Let us take to the study…open a window and give you a private chance to cry.” The words tickle my tongue, delight my imagination.

Is he ready for breaking?

“Give me a minute,” he hisses though grit teeth. 

“Heeheee, is the head Phantomhive feeling down?” that whiny laugh gives away the Undertaker’s position. He’s in his usual dark colors and fading into the shadows. “Cheer up…you had all that time to laugh, when you could have died years ago, alone and despairing.” 

Ciel looks up. Behind his fringe, he’s pale and furious. “Who invited you?” he gripes. “I’m not wor—”

“Ciel…” the ex-reaper is faster than I expect, and he has Ciel’s chin in hand. His long nails press into soft flesh. “Why wouldn’t I say goodbye to a friend? Especially one as funny as you.” His eyes twinkle. 

I pinch his elbow and maneuver him to the side, shielding Ciel from further advances. “Ciel,” I warn. His name alights, resounding in the tense space. 

Undertaker laughs. “Hmm. You’re actually calling his name.” He grins, and taps his fingers against the banister. “How close you must be.” 

Ciel turns his chin up, speaking as haughtily as he can manage “We’re not discussing business, and so there’ll be no jokes.” 

“Mmmhmmm. So, did you open that book?” From somewhere in his many layers of sleeves, he procures a round of sweet-jelly-like-paste. He scoops out some with his finger and licks it slowly.

“I did,” Ciel grumbles. 

“What will you do with it, young Phantomhive?” 

“I…” Ciel doesn’t have much of a chance to answer that. 

There is a commotion from behind. The night’s quiet has been shattered.

A window breaks, and none other than the red Reaper, Grell Sutcliff, passes through. He lands in a neat crouch, his long hair flowing around him. The maneuver is too suave to reconcile with his old butler persona. 

“Sebas-chan.” Those lips spread around pointed teeth. “…and Ciel Phantomhive.” He clears his throat. 

The Undertaker laughs and slides away. “…what’s this? A red notice from the agency?” he shakes his head. Undertaker wordlessly opens his hands to accept the kitten, and steps out of the arena.

Meanwhile, the three under-crewmen run towards the scene. Bard, Finnian and Mei-Rin are quick to notice the disruption. Aside from them, our hosts also make a move forward. The whole of the party has amassed. 

I pull at Ciel’s hand, half spinning him with the momentum. 

Agni catches his fall, and he carefully maneuvers Ciel out of the line of fire. He ducks down with the younger men. “Please stay down.” He bids quietly, balancing easily despite Soma and Ciel’s flailing limbs. 

Confused and a little angry, Ciel looks through the wall of bodies and forces his voice through the clamor. “What are _you_ doing here?”

As Mei-Rin removes her glasses and takes sight on the intruder, Finnian and Bard recognize him. The three press ranks.

“It’s Sutcliff.” Bard’s cigarette falls from his mouth. Hastily, he catches it, and meets Finnian’s gaze. 

“He’s the one who…” Mei-Rin’s voice is hard. Like this, the three of them _almost_ redeem themselves. “…murdered Lady Angelina.” 

Soma cries out and attempts to get Ciel down, but the brat only pushes away. Lack of time has made him impatient and foolishly brave, it would seem. 

“Speak your business quickly. I have no more time for traitors.” His hand touches the eye patch. He is a breath away from ordering me.

Grell rises up out of his crouch, and takes a bow. “The Agency of Reclaimed Souls (Note: check and see if there’s an official name for them.. I just made that up.) would like to inform you that,” he locks eyes with me, batting his lashes, “should your name appear on our list, you _will_ be reclaimed. No matter what Sebas-chan has to say.” 

All of us gathered here only stare.

Ciel’s voice is cold. “Get out.” At that, several things happen at once.

Finnian and Bard move to the left and right. Agni pushes the boys down. And at Grell’s manic laugh, Mei-Rin fires a handgun, shattering a fragment of glass. It hits Grell’s cheek, and a small stream of blood washes down his cheek. 

He licks it and grins　dangerously. “What the hell.” He swears vehemently. “Don’t you know what a lady goes through to keep her face _perfect?_ You little—” and he lunges for the sharp-shooter.

Just in time, she dodges out of the way of his menacing scissors.

I have to laugh at the tiny reach of his weapon. 

Finnian grabs a large decorative pot, hurls it through the air, and angrily shouts something indecipherable. He ducks out of the way as Bard makes to stop something of a suspicious shape. He has his hand through the lever, and is eyeing the Reaper with wild eyes. 

Grell's voice is torn between a hiss and a screech. “I will have your severed head in my hands…then we’ll be even, yes?”

Ignoring the Reaper, I touch Bard’s arm and shake my head. “Put that down. You do realize this is a confined space?” I punctuate the sentence with a flick of the wrist. A knife and fork pin Sutcliff’s hair for a second, but he cuts free with a wide grin.

“I knew you’d want to dance…you wouldn’t cut my face, would you, Sebby-dear.” Sutcliff grins, sighs, and makes to leap. His glasses flash, and the sunlight reflects off his green eyes. He looks less than human.

“Quite right. I believe I’d rather take your face entirely…you would like that, wouldn’t you? So much blood.” I let my arms fall to a ready stance, preparing for another scuffle.

“There’s no need for that.” Undertaker croons. “Just look.”

At his prediction, two dark forms block the dying light. “Yo,” Ronald greets. 

“Good evening.” Will nods. The chief of the division, here to keep his wild card under wraps, it would seem. How very…useful. “We just received a call on the improper conveyance of intent by one of our personnel on probation.” 

My lips twitch. His refusal to acknowledge Grell Sutcliff by name seems to be doing quite a number on the red-head’s confidence. 

Will continues as he removes a card from an inner pocket. “Any and all complaints will be taken up with the human resource division.” He leaves a blank card in my hands, and gives a stiff nod and a thin frown. 

Ronald gives a boyish grin to counter his overseer’s boorishness. “Sorry for the interruption. Grell-sempai, we’ll be going now.” 

Grell’s legs are swiped out from behind by Will’s long-armed pruning device, and he topples onto Ronald’s push-lawnmower. Grell gives one last undignified squall as Will nods again and ushers his underlings out. 

Wind blows through the broken window, and we all look after them.

Ciel sighs. He looks at the damage and gives a small clap. “Everyone go back to the other room. Sebastian will straighten up.” 

“No, no, at times like this, let us help clean!” Mei-rin nods vigorously. 

“It will be faster if you don’t. I’m going to the other room too, so just listen to me. Or is this not my party?” Ciel stares the guests down. “Sebastian, clean this up.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And quit calling me that!” He turns around sharply, parading back to the festivities.

Left alone at last, I clean up in a matter of seconds. I even have time to return my kitten to my room for a stretch.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

 

I find Ciel and the others in the sitting room, everyone talking in pairs. Ciel is clearly not listening to Soma, while the servant trio schemes. Ciel looks up at me, his visible eye so large and conflicted. 

The eye of a boy who has seen death. Who has tasted it, and just barely gotten away. 

Ciel flinches away from Soma’s hand and bolts. He’s out the door, away from the only people in the world who care for him. 

Ciel doesn’t run far. He’s still shaken up by his aunt’s death, and the end ever looming over him. A Reaper’s intent to save his soul… 

“Did his words bother you that much? Your final promise thwarted by your aunt’s killer…is it words of hope, or a bitter theft?” I wonder if he sees it as robbing him of the only person who will never abandon him? Or if he sees it as his last, faint hope for eternal salvation.

Ciel scoffs. “You won’t lose to them. They can’t or won’t kill you, and you will work to protect me to the last. You will stay by my side.” His words are slow, but with an edge. He does not despair. “I will keep my word, Sebastian.”

I wonder at his cold anger. His determination to see this to the end…His soul that hasn’t wilted, in spite of the harsh hand fate dealt him.

“Until the end, my lord.” 

And how soon the end approaches…

The day the rusted crown falls from his head and darkness rises up around him. I will stay at his side.

* * *

o0o0o0o0o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> endings (of stories and of arcs) are always messy. We still have at least a chapter or three after this, but the pace is fast, and the mood can change very quickly. Consider it a play on emotions; both Sebastian and Ciel are high strung due to the nature of their contract. My usual dry humor is included to help lighten the read. 
> 
> If you are easily confused, I recommend reading any following chapters (or sections) twice. If you’re still confused, always ask. I like talking, and don’t mind revising.


	24. Going home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel is nearly ready to meet Sebastian for the final time. In the meanwhile, he goes to his old family mansion, gets himself into trouble with a certain spellbook, and...?

The Secret Name  
Chapter 24: His master: going home.

(Ciel)

Sneaking into my old house is easier than I thought it’d be. It’s no longer the burnt out ruins that I remember, but something like the manor from my childhood. Brick and ivy walls loom over the garden. Every window is lit from within, so as to keep the early winter darkness at bay.

Years after I last visited, it seems more impressive, more grand. It no longer seems like a place where I might live.

“Country Manor Wedding and Balls” the sign reads. Of course, no one lives here any longer. The house, and my family’s wealth, was seized by the government. Any family who can afford a country manor outside of London already has one, so of course it was bought by entrepreneurs.

Inside, I finger the brochure detailing the rates and attractions of the wedding location. I don’t open it, instead, deciding to look at the rooms in person.

I walk through the house, trying to not remember too much. Looking for a way out of the only plan I had those six years ago. But it’s only a house, not a magic book. The things buried here are half painful memories. 

I remember sitting on the window seat, eating fruit drops, listening to my father tell stories while my mother sewed plush toys. Her hands were quick and white, pulling a needle and thread through the cloth with speed and agility that impressed my childhood self. The flash of silver, the taught thread. The baritone of my father’s voice changing to tenor to read a girl’s line.

In another room, elegant women’s things are arranged like a scene from a wedding magazine, taking the place of children’s toys, books and sewing kits. A full length mirror hangs opposite the rich cushions and an antique candle holder rests on the dressing table. I half expect a chandelier in each room or something equally tacky, but in spite of my distaste, it is more-or-less tastefully decorated.

The staircase where I pushed toy cars and plastic soldiers has flowers and ribbons placed halfway up, and a bust of a Victorian woman. 

I pause before my parent’s bedroom. The floorboard still creaks, just like it did when I woke in the middle of the night, longing for my parents’ familiar comfort. My hand hovers before the bronze doorknob.

“Excuse me,” a woman calls hesitantly. She hangs back in the hall, a ways off from me. “What are you doing in this part of the—” she falters. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” She eyes me with suspicion, and she takes a few strides forward. “You better not have any spray paint, young man, or I will have the police here faster than you can—”

I raise both hands. “I’m not doing anything.” I try and think of a plausible excuse. Something to keep me out of trouble. This late in the contract, I really can’t afford to be held up by anything. 

“Empty your pockets,” she demands. “I want to know you’ve nothing to desecrate our place.” 

While doing so, I speak up. “I was just looking around...this place has-” I struggle to think of something besides the truth, “a compelling history.” It sounds lame, obvious, but I hadn’t expected any staff to be left, aside from the possibility of a security guide. Of course, my pockets are empty, or nearly. A digital camera, a USB, my smart phone and my wallet.

“Hard to do graffiti without even a pen.” I offer a crooked smile. I catch a glimpse in a decorative mirror. I almost think I’m seeing a photo of the former owners, but it’s only my reflection. I look more like my father than I remember.

Her expression wavers. “Then what are you…how did you get here?”

I shake my head and shrug sadly. “I just wanted to look around...this place is...beautiful. Important.” Or something.

“Important?” a smile crosses her face. She almost looks less stern. “If you say so.” 

“To some people, sure.” I should have brought props, and thought up a reason to be here...testing the gas meter or something. Or delivering pizza to the neighboring residence. I’m nearly the right age for that. Or nearly. I try and think of some plausible reason for being here after dark, but come up blank.

Maybe it’s my manner, or something I said, but the woman supplies me with an excuse. “Are you coming to one of the balls with your sweetheart? You still look a bit young for a wedding...” She smiles at her joke. Then she looks mortified. “…you’re here with that new couple? The older woman…I believe she said she was getting remarried.” She falters. “So sorry. I can’t remember the name.” 

Perfect. People always go out of their way to make things fit—they’ll make up the best excuse for you if you just act as though you belong. I look down, as if embarrassed. “…I mean, this place has been standing for longer than a lot of the others in the area. I heard that a lot of the surrounding land belonged to the noble family until the turn of the century.” 

She eyes me suspiciously again. I guess most people my age don’t remember what they read in pamphlets. Or even if that is in a pamphlet. “You have an interest in history then?”

“Of course. This manor has been through the World Wars, and two fires at least.” I look back at the doorknob. “This was the parlor, wasn’t it?” 

She frowns. “I don’t quite…” hesitates. “I mean.” She clears her throat. “It’s not the original you know. This part of the house was repaired after the latest…fire. You won’t see many antiques _there._ ” 

Footsteps sound behind us. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. Sebastian was supposed to be checking the perimeter, and keeping any security guards _away_ from me. 

I meet his gaze. “You’re late. We were supposed to be here earlier.” 

She jumps and tears her gaze from me to Sebastian, dressed in a more formal suit. He seems more at place here in that old-fashioned garb than I am, now. 

“So sorry to keep you waiting, young master. Do these premises match your expectations?” His smile is mocking, and his eyes shine with mirth. He looks like something out of a fairy tale...

A fairy, like Alois wants...

The woman’s attitude changes again when she gets full sight of Sebastian. She blushes, she looks away, and she stammers something unintelligible. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She finally asks in a quiet voice. 

“If the young master has had his look around, I’m afraid our business is finished, miss.” He gives a perfectly formal bow.

When his eyes don’t even land on her for more than a passing glance, she blushes more. Looks away. “…yes, yes of course. I hope we can serve you in the future.”

Sebastian nods absently, and gestures to the staircase.

“Let’s go.” I nod at the young woman, more of a girl in her manners now, and make my way toward Sebastian. 

His hands touch my shoulder. He looms for a moment, and then he is the appropriate distance away. Ever the gentleman, looking out for his _master’s_ well-being. 

I stop. There are candles on the side of the hall, arranged in an artifice of ceremony. Something my mother would have known the story about, and my father the name of. 

_“If you want to win your love,”_ my mother said playfully,” _you need to know the time to say something. And the time to keep quiet.”_ _She grins in my memory, ruffling my hair sweetly, and like the child I was, I leaned in on her._

 __“ _Don’t fill his head with fancy.”_ _my father replied._ “ _The best you can do is to get to know each other. Spend time together, and speak when you have something to say.”_

Of course their memories come back to haunt me here. 

“ _Love is a game, Ciel, my baby.” She looked up at her husband. “It’s a game of give-and-take, and seeing how you can make things work between you….or at least, that’s what your father told me.”_

I shake the memory from my head. My mouth is sour as my mood. Who would have thought that my childhood home would be doomed forever to repeat endless parades of strangers’ happy ceremonies? Ceremonies binding two willing people into a wedding contract…when my contract is something so different. Perverse, one might say. 

Final.

I steal a look a Sebastian, and accept his hand over the threshold. Any excuse to touch someone living, something solid. 

“Did you accomplish what you came for?” Sebastian’s voice startles me out of my musings. He stops on the brick road next to a rose bush. “Remember your happy past?”

The night air is cold and biting compared to the warmth we left behind. I look at my clothes. They look different than anything my mother or father would have chosen for me. Everything about me is different.

“Why did you go back?”

I sigh rather than say anything. I don’t know what to say. 

“Going to a place like this will not accomplish your goal. You ought to visit that dank basement instead,” Sebastian murmurs. As ever, his voice is mocking. I sometimes wonder what he would choose to do, if I were to let him. Sulk in dark holes, apparently. 

I feel the blood rush from my face momentarily, and then my cheeks warm. Anger and shame fight for a place in my gut. “What would you know?” 

“Soft and gentle memories will not help you...”

“And you think memories of being tortured and humiliated will?” I hiss.

“You have power now. You will never be that boy in a cage again.” Sebastian looks curious. “Going back there will not make you eleven years old again.” His words are like honey and milk, but then foul and sweet. 

I wonder if it’s true. “I don’t need to go back. I just need to keep looking,” I snap back. Really, I sound like a kid again even to me. I straighten my shirt and exhale slowly. “Why should I go there? There’s no benefit.”

“Remember your beginnings.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively. 

I scoff. “Only you would think revisiting the place I was tortured would be a nice spot for a date.”

Sebastian chuckles. “You were quite charming in those days, ordering all of those people dead. I wasn’t sure you’d even live an hour back in the world, to be honest.” His eyes narrow with speculation. “Most children could not strike a bargain to keep me from devouring their souls that very night.”

“So you admit to being out maneuvered by a child.” I smirk.

“Your soul is a rare delicacy, little master. I would suffer a minor delay of victory to cultivate a promising child,” he corrects.

I wonder if there really is a difference in the flavor of souls... what sort of flavor would it be? Furthermore, what of _innocence?_ Light on the tongue and dizzyingly sweet, maybe. But fear? Depravity, corruption, shame. Power…and lust. What would those things taste like?

“Hmm.” The conversation makes my heart fall. I breathe in the night wind, chill and stinging. “So you’re just a really dedicated foodie, then?” 

Sebastian watches me in silence. 

“I suppose you approve of the flavor change?” The words are bitter irony.

Sebastian smiles slightly, and curiosity opens his face to me. He reaches to caress my cheek, to pull a strand of hair away from my eye patch. 

“Yes…watching you develop has been most satisfying.” His gaze drops, and those red eyes are hidden by hair as black as raven’s feathers.

“…I see.”

His voice is everywhere and nowhere, not quite as it should be. Unconfined to the form he holds for me. “…then, young master, I have become so hungry…” his hands tighten around my face.

I blink, but do not flinch away. “Is that so?”

He only laughs, long and wild. It reminds me of when he first came to me—half untamed beast, half intoxicating power that the kid I was could barely comprehend.  
“You’ve changed too,” I murmur. I look up at the manor house. “You used to be impatient about everything…from making dinner the hard way to finding me my place. Nothing was fast enough for you…which is funny, you know. You supposedly have all the time in the world. Why rush?”

He releases me. Turns me to the path. “I was not rushing, sir. I simply was unaccustomed to a master who denied me free use of my talents.” 

“More challenging that way, right?”

He nods his head in assent, but closes his eyes and unleashes another smile. 

“My parents were always subtle about using their influence. I suppose that’s where I got the idea.” I kick at the ground. Too many memories ghost around this place. But it has given me some inspiration, I think. Maybe. 

“Shall we be going?” 

It’s time we got home, and I started thinking of one last plan.

* * *

When we arrive, Sebastian gives me space. He almost fades into the background, cleaning and organizing things I haven’t thought about for years. I suppose he’s preparing for…for the end. 

I flip through the pages of the spell book, looking for some small foothold, a chance to delay the inevitable. The volume’s pages stick together at points—I try not to think what substance binds them together. Being the prized book of the Viscount’s occult collection, it probably isn’t anything my parents would have approved of. But that’s exactly why it might come in handy.

It’s my last option, when all of my magical informants are dead or gone.

Unable to concentrate, I switch to my laptop. The flat is silent except for my typing for several long minutes. But the computer is even less helpful than the book, so I give that up and go back to the most promising spell.

 _Stasis._ I roll the word around my tongue, imaging what it could mean. Inactivity. Rest. Probation? That last possibility keeps me thumbing back to the spell. 

I read over it for the dozenth time. Something obscure about the purpose of the spell, followed by what might be Latin. Or gibberish. I look back to the introduction.

“Place your object or dearest in a resting pose and speak these words for Stasis. _Histanai. Samatesei olon ton epochon._ ” 

I roll up my sleeves to prepare. If this spell can be worked on one’s ‘dearest’, than perhaps I can work it on myself…or the contract. Freeze the contract. Get more time.

This should be an interesting gamble. I take a slow breath and reread the procedure. Finally, I open my mouth to speak.

* * *

(Sebastian)

There is a change in the air. At once I put away the cooking utensils, letting them fall where they are. Something is wrong. In seconds, I’ve traced and followed the source.

Ciel lies cold and still in his bed. He does not breathe, nor move. Only a fool would imagine that he sleeps. 

I pause at the door, a heavy feeling in my stomach. The book lies next to him, its pages gently fluttering with magical residue. I stalk forward to examine the page. 

I sigh. _Of course._

The foolish brat has nearly killed himself by putting himself in stasis. He would be dead, and not in a coma if not for the contract. He may not realize, but there are certain things that bind his soul to his body, allowing me to extract it as slowly (and ah, it can be so slow…) as I please. 

I lean down and brush his hair from his cheeks. He is as fragile and delicate a child. Strange, how these things appear. I wonder at the smoothness of his cheek, the turn of his lips. He is so very small…

Distractions aside, I turn again to the magic. I play on the connection we have through the contract, pulling at his life thread. I push a little against the tie, but it isn’t enough. With things as they are, I need to do something more drastic. 

I lean in, my lips parted for a kiss.

* * *

tbc…


	25. of waking, of dreaming. the end draws near.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel wakes from his experimental sleep. Sebastian brings more questions than answers.

Chapter 25: of waking, of dreaming. 

(Ciel)

There’s the taste of lavender on my tongue. And soft pressure against my lips. There. The taste of lavender water…a brush of tongue against my teeth, and I realize it’s not a dream. Not a memory.

I gag. Turn away and open my eyes to near twilight. No…in the misty half light of a computer screen. There’s a light in the hall. 

Sebastian has pulled away, and I know, he _kissed_ me. Damn near went farther too, if not for me wa—

—he’s not wearing gloves. His eyes glow, and his smile is the same as it was before—half mad with lack of understanding. His words from before flash through my mind. “ _These little games are all fine and well, but do remember. I’m interested in your _soul.__ ” 

“Yes…” he stands straight, coming out of the graceful slouch that screams his arrogance. “It is time for waking.” Like _that_ time, his voice is rich. Full of bitter amusement and dark laughter. “Young lord.” He bows, and a peculiar noise fills my ears. 

“Is something,” I cough. Air seems hot and too moist in my lungs. “funny?” 

“Your voice…” Sebastian is next to me again. “Be careful of it. It would be wise of you not to speak for a while.” His cool fingers (ungloved. I wince.) touch my cheek. 

“What…” my hands are clumsy. The room surges and tilts as I start. There’s no eye patch. 

“If the young master wouldn’t mind…” he sits by me. “It would be best if you stay near.”

I nod dumbly, still not quite grasping what’s going on. Much to my surprise, he scoops me up and lowers me into his lap. I rest against his chest, too dizzy to move, and too out of breath to scold him. Instead, I listen to his heartbeat. _Imagine,_ I think dumbly, _that a demon should have a heart._

For a while, Sebastian says nothing. Then he murmurs, “Breathe deeply. It will hurt…” I can feel the smile playing at his lips, “but do it anyway. To do otherwise now could deaden your bronchioli…” (*1)

With a pang, I realize I’ve heard this before. Heard it from my aunt.

“You want to know…” He seems to be straightening my hair. “…what happened when you cast that spell.” 

I look from his black nails to the floor. My marked circle has been broken with a crack in the wood. “How long?” I ask. He’s right. My throat stings and prickles as much as my lungs burn. 

“It’s been a few hours.” His voice rumbles, and the vibrations tickle my back. “I’m afraid my initial attempts to revive you were…slow. Nevertheless, I managed to coax.” 

I shake my head. It makes no sense. “What do you mean?”

“It could be, master Phantomhive,” mirth leaps back into his voice, “that you did not understand the spell’s intent. Nor its practice.”

I squirm out of his grasp. “We’ll see about—” I reach for the book. My muscles ache in complaint. My lungs scream. I fall back against him. The words die on my lips. I’m too weak to check for myself. The thought chills me.

“Could it be you’ve forgotten your Greek?” he teases.

Ah. Not Latin then. I flush.

“I thought as much. I presume you wanted to wheedle your way out for now…it wasn’t very clever of you, Ciel.” He pulls me back, and where I’d been sitting feels warm. “But was it not to a _date_ that our contract was set, young master? Not to any particular age of yours, yes?”

“It was supposed to freeze the contract.” I sniff and relax into his arms. I’m too tired to think of another scheme right now. “…I still need time.” I tilt my head awkwardly, and he obliges me by leaning in. I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “Just a while longer.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. Again with the kissing. “You lie. You would say that until your teeth rot and your tongue falls out…” 

“I can’t breathe,” I grumble. “And yet you can’t stop talking.” It’s unlike him. 

“Hush.” He smiles. I can feel it. “That spell put you into a coma. I needed to revive you.” A puff of air against my neck tells me he’s near laughing again. “Do you see?” Again, his long fingers tap my cheek, graze my eyelashes. 

I listen to his heartbeat. My eyes are heavy. “See what?”

He laughs more loudly now. “I suppose you don’t.” He goes quiet, and for some time, neither of us moves. 

Finally, he stirs. Procures a glass of water, and moves to a more natural pose. Which is to say, not holding me. In fact, he’s kneeling. Things are almost…almost excusable. 

“Why does my throat hurt?” I ask, placing the glass on the floor. 

Sebastian drops his gaze. “The spell,” he says simply. Infuriatingly. 

“Did you put something down my throat?” I demand.

“No. Your blood was merely pooling at the lowest point of gravity when your heart stopped. Slight inflammation and…throbbing headaches…are to be expected. You got off easy.” The slang sounds strange on his tongue. His voice is more otherworldly now than it’s been in a long while. 

 

My heart quickens. “What? When my…” I touch my chest. “…why didn’t you…” I close my eyes, thinking how close I was to the end.

“I will keep my contract, Ciel Phantomhive. It hasn’t ended yet.” He looks up and finally meets my gaze. “My lord. Have you any orders?”

“Questions. Why were you holding me? What happened to the contract? Get me a mirror.” 

Sebastian clucks, as though this was a lesson and I have just asked the wrong question. “I told you the contract hasn’t ended. It was not affected by your self-inflicted coma. I hold you because it will aid your recovery.”

“Oh. I thought you were getting sweet on me.” I look up at him through my fringe, trying to gauge his reaction.

Sebastian only laughs, and laughs.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*1) Bronchioli or bronchioles are tiny vessels in your lungs that are the first passageway for air from your mouth & nose. I know this because I have asthma, and my mom is a respiratory therapist.♥ Wiki for more info.


	26. to the bitter end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian comes to collect what is his.

Chapter 26: to the bitter end

(Sebastian)

At last, the day has come. Ciel Phantomhive, heir to a title (gone) and to misery (sipped in polished silver spoons). But how his soul has ripened. His birthday has passed, as too have the final days before he must uphold his part of the promise. The contract.

“An anniversary.” Ciel calls it. He speaks lightly when he mentions it at all.

“A cherished, soon-to-be memory.” I reply.

He has been sitting, lost in thought, or walking aimlessly with both eyes trained on the sky. These last days, he has quizzed me endlessly with quiet looks and reproachful sighs. _You will tell me,_ he demands lazily with his manner and habit.

But he does not beg. Not with his lips, nor his eyes. He dares not voice a word of it.

“I’ll be waiting.” He said.

“As will I.”

When I come for him, he is quiet. He looks at me solemnly, and he nods once. Ever the determined earl. I touch his shoulder. He rises. It is all like a scene from a play.

“It’s time, then?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.” 

“Will it hurt?” he asks, quieter still.

“…I could—”

“I think it should.” He interrupts. Puts his child hands on the cushion and pushes to his feet. He has lost so much energy in experimental spells, trying again and again to loosen the sign of our contract, the bloody tie that binds us together.

I smile at him. “Raise your chin, Ciel. Seeing you like this…” I click my tongue, and he starts. “Where has that proud, arrogant child I came to gone?”

He glowers up at me when I touch his mouth. He stops when I slowly remove my gloves. 

“It’s time for a bath.” I remind him, guiding him into the chamber. I recall that he hasn’t been wearing shoes all week. He is very much like a lost child…or a lost cat. In the meantime, he doesn’t protest when I touch his shoulder, or after I unbutton his garments. 

In the fading light, he is as small as a boy much younger than his supposed seventeen years. 

“Please.” I bend forward and unstrap the eye patch. It falls to the ground between us. “Trust this to me.”

He nods. Swallows hard, but says nothing.

Some time passes. Since time is so fickle here in the world, I barely notice it.

There in the dim light, I memorize the lines of his figure. Lithe. Small boned. How quick, his heart. His breath escapes slowly with every pass of water. That gaze which is trained elsewhere, anywhere but on me. 

“So quiet.” I remark, capturing his chin between my hands. 

He scoffs. “I’m thinking.” 

“Any last plans, young master?” 

A smile slips between masks of arrogance and indifference. “I’ll let you know.” He admits, finally meeting my eyes. His duo-toned gaze is enough to startle anyone. 

“Just so.” I rinse his back.

He fidgets. “…must you?”

“Yes.” I murmur, fingering the scar there. Trace the brand he’d never willingly show. 

“I’m clean enough. This has taken far too long.” He snaps, and a cough rattles in his chest. Stress induces so many changes in humans. 

“…as you wish.” 

Back in his room, we settle on the bed. I have brought him a white shirt and black ribbons, soft clothes for comfort, plain colors for simplicity. For the ceremony only a demon (and his guests, of course) knows. 

There is very little scent about him…only that of the water we dried away, and the slight perfume of human soaps and rinses. 

“What?” he demands.

“You’ve been fasting.” _So he takes it seriously, then._ I am satisfied. 

Ciel has no reply to that. Even when I sit beside him on the bed, he says nothing. He runs his hands through his short cropped hair, and sullenly looks aside. 

“No appetite?” 

Ciel turns away from me, but leans in on my hands. I massage his shoulders gently. “I suppose.” This close, I can taste his tiredness, the hurt in his heart. The sad, trusting child he never _quite_ grew away from. Even now, he is hopeful.

“You won’t fight me.” I wait.

He raises a perfect smile. Hides his fears behind it. “I would keep my promise to you.”

“Is that so…” 

Silence takes him again, and I begin to suspect he’s planning something. Something too deep rooted and serious to caress out of him. But he’ll have to show his hand soon.

I grow weary of waiting.

“Let’s go.” He murmurs and attempts to get to his feet. 

Instead, I catch his arm, knocking him into my grip. Cradled against my chest, I can feel him tremble. The air is trapped in his lungs, but he doesn’t let it out in a moan, a scream, or a cry.

Moving away from the human flat he knows as ‘refuge,’ I take him to the moonlit street side. Perch him on a marble bench in a wild garden, and watch. His fingers and lips turn blue and yet his cheeks are painted pink as his emotions rise in the cold. 

While he shudders uncontrollably, I stroke his hair. Kiss his eyes closed, one after the other, and smile.

There in the dark, his head pressed against my chest, he is quiet. Close to fainting, I would say, his heart moves so quickly. To fill the silence, I begin an old song.

While I sing, I reminisce. Ciel asked me once, on a cold winter night under a blanket of stars, _“Why do demons form contracts? Why do you have aesthetics, when you will devour my soul in the end?”_ Essentially, he asked, _What is this contract to you?_

He’d been thirteen at the time. Foolish enough to ask, arrogant enough to expect an answer a child could swallow. 

_“Because the irony suits me.”_ I had replied.

Thinking now, I wonder at it. Forming a contract is a promise. A thrill that takes the sting of boredom away. Like picking up a weapon without knowing its proper use…exciting, certainly. For neither contractee nor demon knows what will develop. Wrought with compassion, fear, and no little determination, it is a gold leaf invitation. 

Of course, the end—the contract’s execution—is a goal in and of itself. It fulfills a need and tempers the emptiness. Fills a _want_ so deep even a demon knows its biting desire. Without the end…what reason would there be to dally here? 

Yes. The end is the sampling of an artful meal. 

But neither of these is the answer he looked for. Our aesthetics lie in the fall. 

The beauty of a contract is just that. The piteous state (fear, anger, malicious pride. Ciel knows all of these) wafts off like mist. Warm now, burning then. Rich with blood and long years of ripening. Watching him change over time is better than a mouthful of hasty feasting.

I sing it to him in a word. “ _There._ ”

The melody hangs between us. “You stopped.” He accuses.

“The reason is simple. There is beauty in transience.” I tell him at last, though he has forgotten the question. It can only happen once…nothing could reconstruct this precise flavor. But how rich he must be…how tender. 

“…in what?” 

In reply, I bare the contract mark. “Once you begin your descent, little master, you have only seconds to enjoy the fall.” 

As if in understanding, he nods. “When at last,” his lips twitch, “you must

“end.”

There is silence. I take him to me. He is stiff, proud in my tight embrace. I laugh into his hair, caress his cheek, and press my lips to his skin. 

Then (at last, he says), we kiss.

I close my eyes and smile.

* * *

…tbc…


	27. Epilogue: The Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goals accomplished or not, time is up. The contract is coming to an end, and Sebastian wants what's his. Ciel, on the other hand, has other ideas.

**Epilogue:** the Catch.

The grip on my chin is firm, almost painful. Sebastian’s eyes seem too large for his face, so bright they are. He opens his mouth and I expect to see nothing but his teeth and glowing red eyes.

But it’s only the same old thin, mocking smile. He lightens his grip and his fingers are like butterflies against my neck and my cheek.

I can’t help but tremble when he leans in, lips parted enough to see pearly teeth and a red tongue. Our lips meet. His fingers tighten against me.

Drawing back, Sebastian sighs. “Six years…the time never seemed so short,” he murmurs.

I meet his gaze, determined to at least appear confident. The same proud, not-quite-broken boy he took an interest in. Didn’t I say it? He would prefer an equal, not a cowered fool. “Then do me a favor. What is it to you to spend another six years with me?” I wet my lips and try to mirror Sebastian’s crooked smile.

  
A useless bit of advice from Alois comes to mind. If you copy what others do—their habits, gestures—just enough, they will trust you that much more. It’s called mirroring, or something similar. I stroke Sebastian’s cheek.

Sebastian chuckles, dark and mysterious as the not-quite-human-thing I first saw through the bars of a cage. “Listen. All things are balanced,”

 _On the edge of my teeth,_ I think, but he shook his head at me slowly. "You struggle and you fight, but there could only ever be one ending for your life, Ciel Phantomhive." He says, and his voice is soft. "Yours was always a tragedy."

I have nothing to say to that. I argued not for the end, after all. Only for the postponing _._

But Sebastian was always a rule unto himself, and he continues without my acknowledgement. But I can't make out what he says.

His sigh is like a gale. He leans over me, and the words tumble out like a curse.

“Though sightless be I,  
it is solace I offer  
There, aloft  
And gone again.  
I lie  
between all things,  
And though tight your fist is  
I am gone when it opens.

“Close your eyes, Ciel. And there I will be.”

Silence is cold and heavy between us.

What just happened? Did he agree to my terms? Or not? I think the words over again and again, trying to fit them into some pattern that I can understand. It maddens me. I don’t know what he means.

Then I hear it. “Say nothing but your answer, Ciel. It is a riddle.” A small, distant voice shrieks alongside the wind outside my window.

I lean away from him, and my body stiffens. My heart (the traitorous thing), races and I’m sure my eyes would be wide with fear and surprise. I close them.

The world stands still.

I see it there in my marked eye. Something quiet, patient, and dark. I know what it is, and I open my mouth.

“Darkness,” I whisper.

And Sebastian says something—some terrible word, some syllable that sounds like a haunting, lonely death. I can feel it echo in my bones, and pulse in my eyes.

Then it’s gone.

It takes an age to comprehend it, though his lips barely move. What is this? Is _this_ the spell?

Sebastian smiles. “Yes…darkness.” He nods, nearly imperceptibly. “That is one way to translate it…” he lifts his hand to his mouth, touches his index finger to his lips. “There are other nuances, of course.”

Then I know. It’s _his name._

A million other implications flit through my head. How can I say that? How can I use it? “You just…”

“…not all of it.” He replies, smirking. “It is but a fragment of who I am.”

I lean in, and relax my mind. I try and repeat what he said, but only a faulty imitation comes out. When I say something remotely like it, Sebastian smirks.

“To a new conclusion, then?” he breathes. “Six years…six nights, and six chances.”

I nod, and look up at him. It is a single fragment, this shard of his Name. And how it echoes in my head.

Playing games with demons never was so tempting.

His kiss is like poison, burning and promising release. So I smile, and he looks at me with a hunger I only barely noticed before. But I think it. _Yes. I will have my revenge._

 

And that's all the end there ever could be. 

* * *

(fin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there’s a kind of beauty in an open-ended story. It invites the reader to pick up where the author left off. 
> 
> This is the originally, planned ending to the Secret Name. ♥ Sebastian and Ciel are left with new possibilities, and no concrete solution to their journey—
> 
> P.S. On the “new” continuation; Sebastian said: six years. Ciel already HAD six years, so this is not an additional six years. From now, Ciel has six chances to guess, and from the conclusion of those guesses, he has an additional six days. If Ciel is smart, he can spend those six chances/guesses very, very slowly…
> 
> OK. You have just read 10-months of story. Tell me something. Anything. That you thought. ♥
> 
> …comment please? Sebastian politely requests it, as is expected of a butler his caliber.


End file.
